


James Potter And The Enchanted Statue

by HeartOfStars



Series: The Marauders And The Great Wizarding War [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marauders - Fandom
Genre: BAMF Lily Evans Potter, But Also An Adorable Dork, Gen, James Potter Being an Asshole, Lily Evans Potter & Severus Snape Friendship, Nice Peter Pettigrew, POV James Potter, Remus Lupin Needs a Hug, Severus Snape Being The Jerk He Is, Sirius Black Being Ridiculous
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2020-11-28 18:29:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 72,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20971070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartOfStars/pseuds/HeartOfStars
Summary: "I need to ask you a question, and I think you’re...well, a bit trustworthy.”“Me, trustworthy?” Sirius laughed. “Wait ‘til you get to know me.”“Well, I’m not very trustworthy, either,” James said, “so I guess we’re two of a kind."James Potter has wanted to attend Hogwarts for as long as he can remember, and he's quite certain it will be the best time of his life. He'll meet dozens of new friends, excel in every single class, and most importantly, become a Quidditch star. But Hogwarts does not become what he dreamed it would be. His friends aren't cool, he doesn't excel in every class, he makes more rivals than friends.But that's not all. The Wizarding World seems to be on the verge of a war...and what's more, a great enemy has plans to take over Hogwarts itself.(The first in a seven-book series about the Marauders written from James' POV.)





	1. Chapter One: The New Headmaster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CassiaBaneberry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassiaBaneberry/gifts).

> So this is it! This story has been in the works for almost a year, but I've finally gotten the courage to throw it out here. This is my best attempt to do two things: imagine what the Marauders' life at Hogwarts was like, and write in the style of J.K. Rowling.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hogwarts gains a new Headmaster; James Potter receives something from his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These first few chapters don't have a lot going on, and I'm sorry about that; unfortunately, without them the rest of the story would fall apart. The story kicks off around chapter seven or so. 
> 
> The first portion of the dialogue here is taken from The Half-Blood Prince.

It was nearly evening at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, surely past time for its new headmaster to have left his office—he had had a very busy day, after all, and had been looking forward to the soft bed upstairs—and yet he remained deep in conversation with a visitor who, to the best of knowledge, ought not to have even tried returning to Hogwarts. But despite what others might say, Albus Dumbledore had never been one to turn any individual away.

The man—if he could be called that—sitting across from Dumbledore was worse for wear from the last time he had been at school. His eyes were tired and almost a little red, and his skin reminded Dumbledore of a wax candle that had only just begun to melt. But his face was eager as he leaned forward, as if intrigued in whatever it was Dumbledore might say; the very picture of the earnest student he had once been.

But Dumbledore was not fooled. This visitor had come for one thing, and one thing only.

“I heard that you had become Headmaster,” the visitor said, his voice cold and a little high. “A worthy choice.”

“I am glad that you approve.” Dumbledore smiled, he could not be unpleasant. “May I offer you a drink?”

“That would be welcome. I have come a long way.”

Dumbledore went to the cabinet, filled two goblets of wine, and returned to his seat behind the desk. “So, Tom…to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Tom Riddle sipped his wine. “They do not call me ‘Tom’ anymore,” he said. “These days I am known as—”

“I know what you are known as,” said Dumbledore, smiling pleasantly. “But to me, I’m afraid, you will always be Tom Riddle. It is one of the irritating things about teachers. I am afraid that they never quite forget their charges’ youthful beginnings.”

Dumbledore’s words were subtle, but one could almost feel the room’s atmosphere change: Dumbledore’s refusal to use Riddle’s chosen name was a refusal to allow Riddle to dictate the terms of the meeting, and Riddle seemed to take it as such.

“I have returned,” Riddle said after a little while, “later, perhaps, than Professor Dippet expected…but I have returned, nevertheless, to request what he once told me I was too young to have. I have come to you to ask that you permit me to return to this castle, to teach. I think you must know that I have seen and done much since I left this place. I could show and tell your students things they can gain from no other wizard.”

Dumbledore considered Riddle over the top of his own goblet for a while before speaking.

“Yes, I certainly do know that you have seen and done much since leaving us,” he said quietly. “Rumors of your doings have reached your old school, Tom. I should be sorry to believe half of them.”

Riddle’s expression remained passive as he said, “Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, spite spawns lies. You must know this, Dumbledore.”

“You call it ‘greatness,’ what you have been doing, do you?”asked Dumbledore delicately.

“Certainly,” said Riddle, and for a moment his eyes seemed to burn red. “I have experimented; I have pushed the boundaries of magic further, perhaps, than they have ever been pushed—”

“Of some kinds of magic,” Dumbledore said quietly. “Of some. Of others, you remain…forgive me…woefully ignorant.”

Riddle smiled; it was a taut leer, more threatening than a look of rage.

“The old argument,” he said softly. “But nothing I have seen in the world has supported your famous pronouncements that love is more powerful than any kind of magic.”

“Perhaps you have been looking in the wrong places,” suggested Dumbledore.

“Well, then, where better to start my fresh researches than here, at Hogwarts?”said Riddle. “Will you let me return? Will you let me share my knowledge with your students? I place myself and my talents at your disposal. I am yours to command.”

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “And what will become of those whom _you _command? What will happen to those who call themselves—or so rumor has it—Death Eaters?”

Once again, Riddle’s eyes flashed red for a moment.

“My friends,” he said, after a moment’s pause, “will carry on without me, I am sure.”

“I am glad to hear that you consider them friends. I was under the impression that they are more in the order of servants.”

“You are mistaken,” said Riddle.

“Then if I were to go to the Hog’s Head tonight, I would not find a group of them awaiting your return? Devoted friends indeed, to travel this far with you on a snowy night, merely to wish you luck as you attempted to secure a teaching post.”

Tom Riddle looked distinctly disturbed by this news, but rallied at once. “You are as omniscient as ever, Dumbledore.”

“Oh no, merely friendly with the local barmen,” said Dumbledore lightly. “Now, Tom…”

Dumbledore set down his empty glass and drew himself up in his seat, the tips of his fingers together in a very odd sort of way.

“Let us speak openly. Why have you come here tonight, surrounded by henchmen, to request a job we both know you do not want?”

Riddle looked coldly surprised. “A job I do not want? On the contrary, Dumbledore, I want it very much.”

“Oh, you want to come back to Hogwarts, but you do not want to teach any more than you wanted to when you were eighteen. What is it you’re after, Tom? Why not try an open request for once?”

Riddle seemed to sneer. “If you do not want to give me a job—" 

“Of course I don’t,” said Dumbledore. “And I don’t think for a moment you expected me to. Nevertheless, you came here, you asked, you must have a purpose”

Riddle stood up, his features thick with rage. “This is your final word?”

“It is,” said Dumbledore, also standing.

“Then we have nothing more to say to each other.”

“No, nothing,” said Dumbledore. “The time is long gone when I could frighten you with a burning wardrobe and force you to make repayment for your crimes. But I wish I could, Tom…I wish I could…”

For a moment, it seemed as though Riddle would attack the older man; his hand seemed to twitch toward his pocket; but then the moment had passed, Riddle had turned away, and he was gone.

Riddle did not look back; he would never have looked back. He was not a man of regret. But if he had, he would have seen his old teacher shake his head, a great sadness seeming to fill his face and make his eyes older than they already were.

**ONE YEAR LATER**

The village of Godric’s Hollow, West Country, England, was an old ruin rumored to be haunted, nothing special, consisting only of an ancient graveyard and several run-down houses--altogether, not a place anyone would go to spend the summer holidays. But to the Wizarding World, it was more sacred than any other village in England, if only because it was named for none other than Goodrich Gryffindor; and because the houses hidden under the protective enchantment were some of the finest houses in London.

Number nineteen stood out in particular as a charming sort of house; it was tall and made of brick, very orderly, with three windows on each of its three floors. A little chimney on top of the house gave out little puffs of smoke, almost lazily; although every so often, several white sparks could also be seeing flying out of the house. If it had been the middle of winter, undoubtedly there would have been more smoke, but it was not; it was the middle of summer, which meant that every eleven-year-old child belonging to a wizarding family was on pins and needles waiting for September to arrive...September, of course, because that was when his or her first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry would begin.

One of these impatient children was James Potter, who lived in said number nineteen in Godric’s Hollow, West Country, England. Young James desperately wanted September to come so that he could make the friends he always dreamed he’d have. He was the only child of his aging parents; and while there were certainly _other _children of wizarding families in Godric’s Hollow, they were all rather shallow, simpering little brats who he didn’t like them very much. He was sure he’d get to Hogwarts—it was his father who’d created the legendary Sleekeazy Hair Potion, and all his family _were _purebloods—but his letter still hadn’t come yet. James was a confident sort of boy, but at this point even he had begun to feel worried, and he did _not _want to spend the rest of his life being mocked by the neighbor boys.

James Potter was as ordinary as all his other wizarding neighbors. He was a little on the small side for eleven, though certainly well-fed and very well pampered, and he had knobby knees, round glasses, and black hair that always stuck up no matter how much he tried to flatten it down. At the moment, he was bored out of his mind. A week ago, he had decided to race one of the neighborhood boys on the broom he’d received for his birthday. That had been both a spectacular and an unfortunate day--spectacular because he’d beaten Robin Pulfrey by at least a mile, unfortunate because he’d been so excited to win that he hadn’t looked where he was going and had flown right into Mrs. Hadley’s house through her window. 

Needless to say, James didn’t have his broom anymore.

Ever since, he'd had nothing to do, and had resorted to running through the house and bothering his mother, who had told him to run outside, where he had accidentally disturbed his father, who was taking a nap out on the lawn and had been told, in no uncertain terms, to find something nice and quiet to do. James’ parents loved him more than they loved anyone or anything else in the world—and he knew this because they told him, several times a day—but they also happened to be older than parents typically were. James didn’t know exactly _how _old, but that they were at least sixty; his father’s beard had already turned grey, and the hair was sure to follow. The side effect of this was that his parents liked a lot of quiet time, sitting and reading or talking softly, which naturally contrasted with James’ accident-prone nature.

But James loved his parents as much as they loved him, so now he was sitting in his room, bored out of his mind, and trying to find some enjoyment in the _Daily Prophet._ The _Daily_ _Prophet_ wasn’t a very good paper, but everybody read it, so there was always a copy lying around somewhere. It was pretty boring, too, containing everything from house protection against flobberworms to a new set of regulations on travel into Diagon Alley, but somehow including _nothing _about Quidditch. James flipped past another page, rolling his eyes. There had to be _something _interesting…

Wait a minute. What was that? Something about Hogwarts?

No, something about Albus Dumbledore.

Without wasting another second, James leapt off his bed, knocking a Sneakoscope off the side table, tore into the hall, and thundered down the stairs into the kitchen. “Mum! Mum! You’ll never believe—”

“Merlin’s beard!” With a clatter, Euphemia Potter dropped the pan she’d been magicking onto the stove. Porridge splattered across the spotless white floor. Sensing that he’d done something wrong, James immediately bent down to help; but in doing so, he knocked over a second pan, sending _it _rolling as well. Apologizing profusely, James attempted to do more, but his mother shooed him out of the way while she raised her wand and muttered, “Scourgify.” Instantly, the mess vanished, the pots and pans flew into the air and settled themselves on the stove, and all was silent.

Mrs. Potter crossed her arms and glared at her son.

“Sorry, Mum,” James said, looking down at his shoes. “I didn’t realize—”

“Of course you didn’t, there’s no harm done,” Mrs. Potter said, “but _please_, James, try to be a bit more sensitive to what others are doing! This is tonight’s dinner, you know.” She shook her head as James grinned in spite of himself. “Now, you’d better tell me before you cause a ruckus again. What on earth got you so excited?”

Suddenly James forgot his remorse. “Oh, Mum, I was reading the Daily Prophet—I was bored—there was nothing in there…but then I saw an article saying that Albus Dumbledore is the new Headmaster at Hogwarts!”

“Don’t believe everything you read in the Prophet, James,” Mrs. Potter said, refilling the pot and igniting a fire under it, “but this time, the Prophet appears to have settled for a spark of truth, for once. Yes, Albus Dumbledore is Hogwarts’ new Headmaster.”

“And the teachers are McGonagall, Flitwick, that old Binns—”

“Don’t insult anyone’s age, dear, look at us—”

“Sorry, Mum, Binns, Slughorn, Nibley, Kettleburn—”

“Oh, that’s right, James, I forgot to tell you,” Mrs. Potter said as she stirred the porridge. “Alfred Nibley isn’t coming back to Hogwarts.”

“Isn’t coming back?” James was mildly shocked. He had been looking forward to Defence Against the Dark Arts with Nibley…the man was famous for helping Dumbledore years ago in the war against Grindelwald, he had once defeated one hundred dementors all by himself! And he was a Gryffindor, too; what was more admirable than that? “Why not? Didn’t he like teaching?”

“Of course he did,” said Mrs. Potter, who had probably known him. “But he can’t help it, he’s at St. Mungo’s.”

“St. Mungo’s? A hero like Nibley?” Now James was even more aghast, following his mother around the kitchen as she bewitched several plates to fill themselves with porridge and set down on the table. “Why?”

“Apparently, he was attacked by several acromantulas; he got out alive, but his legs are absolutely mangled and he’ll be confined at St. Mungo’s until Christmas.” Mrs. Potter handed James the water. “Here, fill our glasses.”

“Sure, Mum,” James said, and began pouring water absent-mindedly. “Until Christmas?”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine, James,” Mrs. Potter said, “he’s seen worse things before. Your concern is rather touching, though…”

“But—but who’s going to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts? Dumbledore won’t be able to find anyone as good as Nibley. He taught it for years!”

“You know how wise Albus Dumbledore is, James,” Mrs. Potter said with a smile, “and I’m sure he’ll find someone even better. Now, sit down to eat, your father will be in any minute.”

James desperately wanted to know more—and was sure his mother _knew _more, and she just wasn’t telling him—but there was no arguing with his mother. He sat down, staring at the steaming porridge in front of him and wishing he didn’t have to eat anything and could go back to reading the paper, maybe find more about Hogwarts…Hogwarts, which would be _his school _in two weeks…and Gryffindor, which would be _his house…_

“Blatherbosh!” Fleamont Potter made himself known by way of his silly, nonsensical catchphrase, and James spun around in his chair. “James, you’ll never guess what Yiggles brought us!”

‘Yiggles’ was another silly word James’ father had invented, and—to make matters worse—he had given it to the family owl. But James was used to it, so he jumped up from his chair and ran to see what his father was carrying in his hand.

It was a letter.

James’ heart stopped still, his breath caught in his throat. Could it be—after all this time—all these weeks of waiting—

“Open it, James!” Mr. Potter said, handing his son the letter and taking a seat across from his wife. “I think you’ve got the right to see it first.”

The envelope was addressed, in emerald green letters, to Mr. J. Potter, The Second Bedroom, 19 Godric’s Hollow, West Country, London.

James stared at the envelope for just a second more; and then, a grin spreading across his face, he tore it open with as much ferocity as he could, not caring how much he ruined the perfect yellowish envelope, unfolding the slender white paper with trembling hands…

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

_of_ WITCHCRAFT _and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock)_

And James could no longer contain himself.

“It’s here!”he shouted, turning to his parents in absolute glee. “It’s here, it’s here, it IS the Hogwarts letter, Albus Dumbledore IS the Headmaster—”

“Well,” Mr. Potter said with a smile, “well, then, James, I suggest you read it.”

“Oh,” said James, turning back to the letter. “Oh, right.” And, unfolding the letter to its fullest, he read:

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than August 10.

Yours sincerely,

Horace Slughorn

_Deputy Headmaster_

His head spinning—he had not known how exciting this would be, how everything else would stop in front of him—James turned to look at his parents, hardly able to speak. “There’s—there’s a list—it’s already August eighth—”

“I can get the reply out tomorrow, James, don’t worry,” Mr. Potter said fondly. “And in a week, I’ll take you to Diagon Alley to buy your things.”

“Really? Oh, thanks, Dad!”

“Now, why don’t you sit down,” Mrs. Potter said with a smile, “so we can finally eat!”

“Oh,” James said sheepishly. “Sorry, Mum!” Grinning from ear to ear, his head full of thoughts of Hogwarts and Dumbledore and Gryffindor house, James sat down to eat and promptly forgot all about the unfortunate Professor Nibley. 


	2. Chapter Two: The Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James strikes a deal with his dad.

If James had thought he had been bored before, the following week was straight-up torture. The following morning, his father called him down to his study.

James couldn’t fathom what it could be about, but he already had a good idea: Hogwarts. It was all he could think about—he’d even fallen asleep the night before dreaming about the Sorting, that’s what it was called, wasn’t it?

When James entered Mr. Potter’s study, it looked just as normal as always: tested potions staining the walls, papers scattered across the desks and the floor, a letter flying in through the window every twenty seconds, and of course, Yiggles flying in circles.

“Ah! James!” Mr. Potter turned round in his chair, his glasses askew. James smiled. “I did call you in, didn’t I?”

“It’s about Hogwarts, isn’t it?” James asked excitedly before his dad could continue. “You don’t have to tell me, Dad, don’t worry—we’re going shopping today, aren’t we? In Diagonal Alley?”

“Diagon Alley, actually,” said Mr. Potter, “but James—”

“And we’ll take the Floo Network, as I’ve always wanted to do, and—”

“James!”

James looked up, startled.

“We are indeed going shopping,” said Mr. Potter, “but not today. The most optimal time to go would be in ten days, which is when an old friend of mine will be in Diagon Alley…imagine that, the very same time!”

James’ face fell.

“Don’t look so disappointed, young man,” said Mr. Potter, with a glint in his eye—could it be? James looked up, hopeful. “I said the most _optimal _time. That doesn’t mean we are _going _that day.”

James’ face lit up. “Really?”

“Really. But,” Mr. Potter added, raising a finger, “but _only _if you can do several things for me.”

“Of course,” said James quickly. “Anything, Dad!”

“You’re a very energetic boy,” said Mr. Potter, “and your mother and I love you for that, James. A quieter boy would be much too boring. But at Hogwarts, not all of the professors will love that—so what I want you to do is hold back that energy, just a little. If you can behave yourself around the house, keep from asking us to take you to Diagon Alley, keep from mentioning Hogwarts, or vandalizing anyone’s property, or _especially _get in fights with the neighborhood boys…” Mr. Potter met James’ eyes. “I will take you to Diagon Alley in five days, at the end of the week, and I will give you back your broom.”

Solemnly, James nodded. This was a large task he had in front of him, but he was determined to complete it. Fleamont Potter was almost unfairly kind, even generous; but James was his only son, and when he wanted James to obey him, then that was that. And, besides that, there was a broomstick at stake.

So, although disobedience ran in James Potter’s blood as thick as his mother’s hair under the influence of the Sleekeazy Hair Potion, he made up his mind to set a record for the best-behaved week he had ever lived in all eleven years of his life.

Monday morning, sunlight came streaming into the second bedroom of the Potter house through the curtains, disturbing the boy who lay with his glasses askew on the night table. With a groan, James opened his eyes, wondering for a moment why he felt so groggy…and then realized, with a thrill of excitement, that it was because he had gotten his letter to Hogwarts! He had gotten the letter, he’d gotten the list, he’d been accepted—of course he had, he was a pureblood—his father would send a reply, Dumbledore was Headmaster! He’d been so excited he couldn’t sleep, and what was sleep compared to Hogwarts?

Forgetting all thoughts of sleep, James slammed his glasses onto his face, leaped out of bed—

—and remembered the deal he’d struck with his father.

Downcast, James sat back down. The only thing he wanted was to tear down the stairs, run outside, and shout to every child in the neighborhood that he was going to Hogwarts and to know if anyone else was too…but he knew he couldn’t do that. If he wanted to buy his books early, and if he wanted his broom back, he would have to be as quiet and obedient as he had ever been in his life.

So, taking a deep breath, James got dressed, made sure he looked presentable, and walked slowly and quietly down the stairs. He could hear his mother making breakfast; his father didn’t seem to be awake yet.

Resisting the urge to burst into the kitchen and ask all the burning questions about Hogwarts and Dumbledore that raced through his mind, James walked into the kitchen, yawned, and sat down at the table. “Morning, Mum.”

Mrs. Potter jerked in surprise and turned around. “James! My goodness, I didn’t hear you come in! You were quiet as a mouse—unusually quiet, I might say.”

James forced a smile.

“I didn’t sleep all that well,” he said. “The news…you know.”

“Oh, yes!” Mrs. Potter whisked some cakes onto a plate and set it in front of James. “I bet you’re absolutely thrilled…more than thrilled, actually, knowing you.” She pinched his cheek affectionately. “I remember when I received my first letter…I was ecstatic! I remember going shopping for books, I’d arranged to meet with a friend of mine; but it must be even more exciting for you, mustn’t it? After all, Hogwarts has never had anyone as prestigious as Albus Dumbledore to fill the role of Headmaster—not such Phineas Nigellus! Dumbledore’s a war hero, after all. Imagine, attending school under the guidance of Albus Dumbledore!”

_She’s doing this on purpose! _James thought furiously.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Yeah, it’ll be great. I’m…I’m still going with Dad at the end of the week, aren’t I?”

“If that’s what he told you.” Mrs. Potter filled a goblet with water. “Eat up; then maybe you can help me around the house.”

James almost choked; usually, he was able to skive off and run around the neighborhood before his mother had a chance to give him chores to do. But if he said yes, maybe he’d stand more of a chance of getting his broom back.

“Er, if you want me to,” he said, trying not to sound too disappointed.

James ate as slowly as he could, wanting to prolong the chores as long as he could; and meanwhile, staring longingly at the boys and girls who raced through the village on their broomsticks. He could almost feel his own broomstick underneath him, shaky as it was, inexperienced as he was; racing would certainly get out his energy.

But he didn’t have his broomstick—and he wouldn’t have it unless he behaved.

Following breakfast—in fact, for the rest of the day—James played the role of the obedient, eager-to-please son. He helped his mother wash dishes and clean up the parlor, he made his bed, he fed Yiggles twice. Then, when his mother went off to go shopping, he ignored the way the sun shone down invitingly on the grass and the way the wind blew _just right _across the village and went back into the house, where his father asked him to help sort through some old books he wanted to rearrange, and then look through history records of great potioneers. James did this with only one complaint, all the while resisting the urge to look out the window. Robin Pulfrey would be testing dungbombs about now…or perhaps even boasting about his _own _Hogwarts letter...

“Ah, James!” Mr. Potter said suddenly, causing James to look up from the fifteenth picture of Gregory the Smarmy. “It’s nearly time for dinner! Where’s your mother got to?”

Dinner was a quiet affair that night, due mostly to the fact that James was trying to be as unexcited about everything as he possibly could. He shrugged when his mother asked him how his day had been, got up and helped himself to seconds without being asked, responded to an inquiry about whether he was bored with “not really, Dad,” and whenever his parents mentioned the thrilling word—_Hogwarts—_he pretended not to hear them and focused madly on his beans and turkey.

As Mrs. Potter began cleaning up, her husband leaned back in his chair. “Well, Euphemia, I must say I had a rather productive day today, a productive day indeed!”

Mrs. Potter raised an eyebrow. “Did you?”

“Oh, yes, I’d wanted to have all my books reorganized for some time now,” he went on jovially, “my office is a bit of a mess! Not that I mind a mess, of course, but sometimes enough is enough.”

Mrs. Potter gave a snort of disbelief. Her definition of a mess and her husband’s definition of a mess were as different as bowtruckles and centaurs. She liked a fairly tidy house, with everything set in place, the kitchen clean, the floor swept. Of course, the family would be busy every now and then, at which point a small collection of things that had gotten out of place might be allowed to gather in a corner; but when she had time, then that collection would disappear, often with the help of her husband and son.

_Mr. _Potter, on the other hand, was a completely different story. He was called eccentric by the neighbors and even by some of his friends in the wizarding community, and this was due to his odd habits and creative mind. He certainly hadn’t invented the Sleekeazy Hair Potion by twiddling his thumbs; the idea had come to him one day, when he was very young and wanted to give the young witches something to swoon over, and a year later, in 1926, the potion became the most popular potion in the wizarding world. Mr. Potter, by definition, had a completely unorganized mind. He was so unique, so creative, that he might set his mind to a task, think, quite suddenly, of Perry’s Piscatorial Polish, run off, and forget the task for a week or two before coming back to it, on the spur of the moment. In this manner, clothing was left lying around, potions he’d been tampering with were left spilled on a table, and his desk was almost eternally covered with scribbled-over parchment and blots of ink

Therefore, when Mr. Potter said that he had a “bit of a mess” in his office concerning his hordes of books, Mrs. Potter was sure that many of the books, before today, had not been on the shelves at all; that instead, they had somehow escaped the shelves and had been strewn across the floor, on the desk, in a small heap beside the desk, and any other suitable place that did not include the shelves that she had purchased him, in fact, specifically for keeping his books organized.

But in light of everything that had been happening lately, she decided to let it go.

“That’s wonderful, dear,” she said without looking up from the pots she was magicking into the cupboard. “James helped you, I assume?”

“Oh, he did, indeed!” James’ heart leaped, and he looked hopefully at his father. “He was a wonderful help, Euphemia, wonderful! We got through the books with several hours to spare, and were then able to spend several hours looking at pictures of potioneers.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Mrs. Potter said dryly. “Now, Fleamont, tell me. Did you send the reply to Hogwarts?”

“Oh, banshees and basilisks!” Mr. Potter sighed. “I knew there was something I needed to do. Don’t you worry, James, I’ll get to that straightaway.” As he stood up from his chair, he happened to look out the window. “The weather must be nice for a change; look at that, some of the children are wobbling around on their broomsticks!” He laughed. “Adorable.”

James stood up so fast he rattled his plate. “Mum, Dad, can I be excused, I just remembered—I didn’t—I didn’t clean my room the way you wanted me to!”

And he was up and running to his room before his parents could say otherwise.

Later that evening, as he made himself ready to go to bed, James decided that today had been a rather boring, but successful day overall. He grinned to himself, as he flopped down on his bed, thinking of how proud his parents had been, how they’d praised him for helping them, and smiled, and even joked at dinner. His father had even mentioned the reply back to Dumbledore!

Of course, the obvious problem was that it had been a mental sport for James to behave himself and obey and be quiet all day, and on top of that to _ignore _his parents’ remarks about Hogwarts and broomsticks. He had survived today, but how in Merlin’s name could he survive _four more _days exactly like this one?

Even as he had the thought, images of Diagon Alley and—best of all—his broomstick of three years ago danced through James’ mind. Smiling, he removed his glasses and rolled over for bed. He’d have to survive, because the broomstick and a day of school shopping depended on it.

Over the next few days, James made what was, in his mind, astonishing progress. With his mind set firmly on the broomstick and Diagon Alley, he became impervious to any mention of either one. He was awake by seven each morning, ate quickly, and got to work helping his mother, reading with his father, or looking at the paper by himself. He had learned, over the years, that parents tended to be happier and more at ease if you asked to do chores rather than wait to _be _asked to do them; or, even better, to just start doing chores without saying anything at all.

He did just that on Wednesday morning, when he decided to stack the dishes on the opposite side of the kitchen near the sink without asking if it needed to be done. He was so eager to please his parents that he accidentally dropped a plate on the floor, where it promptly shattered, but fortunately his mother didn’t seem to mind…particularly because James—being, of course, the good, obedient son that he was—bent down immediately to begin cleaning up the mess.

“Sorry, Mum,” James said very quickly.

“Oh, James,” Mrs. Potter said when he turned to face her with an apologetic smile, “don’t worry, how could I be upset? You’re such a good boy, I don’t know how to believe it. Of course you’re well-behaved anyway, but you always had a bit of a restless streak, never wanted to help…but this is a welcome change. You’ve _never _been this hard-working around the house!”

And that, of course, was _exactly _what James had been waiting to hear. His mother might have thought he was turning away due to embarrassment, but really he was hiding a very triumphant smile.

However, as important as Mrs. Potter’s opinion of his helpfulness may have been, _she _was not the person James had to please. That was his father, who had made him promise to behave himself in the first place; so when James wasn’t helping his mother wash dishes or scrub the floor dry, he was sorting more books with his father, testing potions with his father, criticizing the _Daily Prophet _with his father until the venerable old potioneer was practically radiating happiness out of his ears. Once or twice, James could even be found looking at the ancient pictures of famous potioneers, sometimes going so far as to make comments about them.

One afternoon, James was _certain _that disaster had nearly fallen. He had been, once more, sorting through old books with his father. As he was so frustrated with the week’s schedule and at the very end of his patience, he had made an offhand comment about an old history book being stuffy and boring because it had nothing about Quidditch in it. James, who in the last few days had become used to developing strategies to help him feel _less _bored, had been imagining Merlin and the Four Founders of Hogwarts playing Quidditch together, which had made the book sorting infinitely more fun.

But the second he spoke, he felt, rather than heard, his father look up. “Did you say something about Quidditch, James? Quidditch, in a history book?”

“No, not at all, Dad,” James said, thinking quickly. “What I thought was that this book would be much more interesting if it mentioned something about…” He searched for a potioneer and plucked one out of thin air.. “About Hector Dagworth-Granger and the Secret Society of Potioneers!”

Immediately, Mr. Potter’s eyes lit up, and he lowered his glasses excitedly. “Indeed, James, indeed! Hector Dagworth-Granger, of course, was one of the most reputable and ridiculous potioneers to ever live!” He ruffled his son’s hair. “Maybe this week has some fun to it after all, James…I see you’ve already become fond of some of the greatest heroes of the wizarding world!”

James hardly knew what he would say once the week was over and he promptly forgot everything his father had ever told him about potioneers. But he couldn’t think about that now; because in a week, he would be at Diagon Alley buying his books _and his wand, _and he would have his broomstick. So he only smiled and returned to the book sorting.

Besides this incident, nothing out of the ordinary happened. James was sure that he was the best behaved boy who had ever existed in Godric’s Hollow since the days of Godric Gryffindor himself. He adhered to a perfect schedule, he didn’t look outside, he didn’t _think _about the outside, he did things without being told, he suddenly developed a great love for potioneers, and his parents had never been more pleased to have James Fleamont Potter as a son. Once, at dinner, he saw—he was _sure_—that after he stood up and started cleaning up the dishes, his father bestowed a proud, almost tearful look upon his mother, clearly meant to convey what a well-behaved boy they had gotten themselves.

Needless to say, when James left the table that night, he was grinning. 

By Thursday evening, James was exhausted by his efforts but thoroughly proud of himself. He felt, if he were being honest, that he had done a fairly good job of behaving himself _and _refusing any mention of Hogwarts or Quidditch or broomsticks. He was such a restless boy, after all, he felt such a _need_ be doing something, all the time, that it was quite a feat that he had managed to be obedient for just one day, let alone _four. _In fact, he had to concede that it was a miracle. But he didn’t dare say anything about it, not yet; not when there was still one day left.

Friday morning James woke up at the same time as usual. He kept to his schedule: eat quickly, clean the kitchen, ask his mother if there was anything she needed, help her, go to see his father. The first few hours were uneventful enough: James helped his parents as they were needed, often without being told or asked, and the morning passed quietly. James thought constantly of Diagon Alley and the broomstick; _especially _the broomstick, because although it was guaranteed that he would get to Diagon Alley eventually, that he would get to Hogwarts, there was _no _guarantee that he would get to bring his broomstick to Hogwarts, or that he would get his broomstick back at all. And as long as he made it to the end of the day without running around outside, or shouting, or talking about Hogwarts or Quidditch, that guarantee would suddenly become much higher.

So James continued to help his parents, he pretended interest in the potioneers, he read the _Daily Prophet, _he fed Yiggles, and all was well. And then, at about ten in the morning, something happened that was unprecedented.

First of all, James helped his father actually finish sorting the books, which was a thing that had not happened in the twenty years the Potters had had this house. Mrs. Potter happened to be downstairs with them at the time; and when she knocked on the office door and saw all the books neatly arranged on the shelves, exactly in order, alphabetically by author from A to Z, she turned to her husband and said, “Fleamont, you finally did it,” in the tone of voice one used when describing an event such as paying off the house.

“Of course I did!” Mr. Potter exclaimed, perhaps trying to reclaim his lost dignity. “Now, Euphemia, since this is all done, and this was the only project I had all week, I think it’s time we went out for a beer at Fink’s Pub.”

“The _local _pub?”she asked anxiously. “But Muggles go to that pub!”

“And what’s wrong with Muggles, my dear? We know how to dress like them, we’ve done it often enough—”

“I’m not worried about Muggles,” she hissed, “I’m worried about you trying to get them to test your Limb-Switching Solution!”

“Euphemia!” Mr. Potter exclaimed in horror, hiding a bottle full of the Limb-Switching Solution behind his back. James stifled a laugh. “How dare you suggest that I would do such a thing!”

She crossed her arms. “You are _hiding _one behind your back, aren’t you?”

“Oh, you see everything,” Mr. Potter muttered, but he set the Limb-Switching Solution on the table beside him. “I only wanted to see—the Muggles would have no idea, you know, and they’re so kind—”

“They won’t be very kind when they have an arm where their left leg should be!”

James could no longer contain his laughter, and burst into snorts of giggles.

“Oh, Euphemia, I just wanted to have a nice day off,” Mr. Potter said. “So we could grab a drink…relax…”

James could see in her eyes that the idea was extremely tempting to her. “Well…well…I do admit that that sounds rather nice, but—but—” Her eyes narrowed. “But if I see you with _any _potion during the course of the meal, I’ll throw it on you and see how _you _like it!”

“I quite understand,” Mr. Potter said mildly. “All right, Euphemia, I’ll leave the Limb-Switching Solution here if you’d like, there it is…” He stashed it in a drawer in the table behind him. “Are we ready?”

Mrs. Potter sighed. “Yes, we can leave. I’ll get the Floo Powder.”

“Floo Powder? Oh, no, Euphemia! If we’re going to a _Muggle bar, _we have to arrive like Muggles, not wizards!”

Mrs. Potter sighed again. “Not the car, dear?”

Mr. Potter smiled. “Yes, the car!”

“All right, but you’ll drive, I doubt I even passed the test, and my eyesight is terrible!” In the midst of her tirade, Mrs. Potter turned to James and gave him a quick kiss. “I suppose this was rather entertaining for you?”

He decided it was safe to give a laugh. “I guess. It’s not like I have any brothers or sisters.”

“Well, we’ll be back at…” She looked at her husband. “When would you say we’ll be home?”

“A quarter past four,” Mr. Potter said. “So we’ll be gone for about six hours. Do you think you can last for six hours, James?”

“Sure, Dad,” James said, trying not to sound too excited. No work, for six whole hours!

“And now,” Mr. Potter said, pointing a finger at James in warning, “you remember what I told you.”

“Oh, yeah,” James said. “I remember.”

“Then you’ll be just fine!” Mr. Potter hugged his son. “We’ll see you at a quarter past four.”

“Don’t go outside,” Mrs. Potter said as they walked to the door.

“And don’t let Yiggles out without a letter, either, he’ll just fly away—”

Mrs. Potter opened the door. “And there’s some cold turkey ready for lunch, make sure you eat it with at least _one _apple—”

“And don’t touch the potions!” Mr. Potter shouted as they shut the door. Several seconds later, James heard the sound of a car roaring to life, as it squealed, skidded, squealed again, and finally took off, rather shakily, toward London.

James’ immediate temptation was to find his broomstick, run outside, and tear off through the village—_they would never know, _he thought. But they _would _know, because everyone would tell them, and what if he broke another window? Worse yet: what if he broke Mrs. Hadley’s window _again?_

James repressed a shudder. He could still feel the mark on his cheek where she’d slapped him.

No, there would be no disobeying his parents, especially when his father had specifically made him promise before leaving, which meant getting his broomstick depended on how he would behave this afternoon.

But six hours was so long…dinner was so far away…

Well, he’d just have to find something to do, then. What to do, he thought as he looked round the house…it was half past eleven—

A-ha! He’d eat lunch.

Satisfied with this decision, James marched into the kitchen, shushed Yiggles when he hooted too loudly, and scooped up the cold turkey onto a plate next to some water and an apple, as his mother had told him. Then he began to eat; but even that felt strangely lonely without his mother’s incessant chatter.

_Imagine all the friends I’ll make at Hogwarts. We’ll all eat lunch together, we’ll all be on the Quidditch team, we’ll be the pride of the school and the teachers will boast about how good we are…_

“No,” James told himself out loud. He had thought of Hogwarts and Quidditch in one sentence! If he went on like that, soon he’d be playing Quidditch outside, and then his parents would come home and he’d lose his broomstick for the rest of his life!

Determined, James returned his attention his meal and ate the rest of the food.

But then lunch was over, and it was only noon.

Well, what would he do on a regular day, one where his parents were home? The answer came to him, clear and simple: he’d clean up the kitchen. James realized, to his delight, that there were stacks and stacks of dishes to be washed! Happy for the first time at the prospect of doing chores, he rolled up his sleeves and set to work.

Finally, all the dishes had been washed and dried, and been put away with the exception of one cup, which James had accidentally dropped and then shattered on the floor. But that didn’t matter much, his mother hadn’t minded before because he was such a hard worker. At the thought of his mother, James felt even happier; they were bound to be home soon! He cast a glance at the clock.

It was a quarter past one.

James groaned, burying his face in his hands. There were still three hours to go! Somehow, he had to survive three hours. He’d survived three already, though…he was halfway there…

In the background, someone shouted; a boy, from outside. Almost against his will, James looked up to see Robin Pulfrey waving at him, a broomstick in hand. James wished the walls weren’t so thin, but they were, and he could hear what Pulfrey was shouting at him: “Hey, James! Potter, come race!”

James walked to the window and pulled the curtains shut.

He had to do something; he had to distract himself. He could go to the cellar…clean it out for his dad…find the broomstick that he knew was hidden in the lefthand corner…

No. He’d go read the _Daily Prophet. _

James trudged upstairs, every muscle in him wanting to run to the cellar and grab his broomstick and run outside…race the boys, especially Pulfrey…but he made himself walk upstairs to his bedroom, shut the door, and read the paper.

Some time passed this way, as James read the paper with so much focus and determination that he might have been about to be tested on the information. Every so often, James would glance at the clock, watching as the little hand slowly slid to the two, and the longer hand slowly slid past it, ignoring every shout and every scream of glee that came through the window behind him…

“Potter! Did you get your Hogwarts letter? Or did Dumbledore forget about you?”

That did it. James sat up, looked at the clock—it was a quarter to three, he could be out for an hour, and not race or even grab the broomstick, and come back in—and before he had even thought about it he was off his bed and running to the door, which he opened and slammed behind him.

“I got it, all right!” James shouted, and the five boys looked up from where they had been gathered beneath his bedroom window. “I got the letter on Monday!”

“Monday?” Diggs echoed. “Then why haven’t you told us?”

“Well, I—I—” Why not tell the whole truth? “My dad’s going to take me to Diagon Alley early, tomorrow, if I behave myself and keep quiet and don’t talk about Hogwarts or Quidditch, like I’ve been doing all week!”

The boys whistled. 

“All week?” Pulfrey echoed. “Blimey, Potter! You’ve been helping your parents like a sissy all week?”

“I’m not being a sissy, I’m getting my broomstick back,” James said angrily. “And what’s wrong with doing things for your parents—”

“Oh, nothing, nothing at all, James,” Pulfrey said. “Only it’s a little soft when you could be talking to us! Why didn’t you just forget about the deal? Go to Diagon Alley a little later?”

“Because…because my dad also said he’d give me back my broomstick!”

There were several long seconds of silence.

“Your broomstick?” Diggs looked at the other boys. “Well, the day’s almost over, why don’t you just get it now and race us?”

“Get it—” James couldn’t deny that that was what he’d wanted to do ever since his parents left on their little excursion. But he couldn’t get his broomstick; he’d _promised. _“No, I can’t do that. My parents’ll be home in an hour anyway—”

“An hour?” Pulfrey laughed. “This won’t take an hour! It’s a little race, it’ll just take a few minutes!”

“No,” James said firmly. “So tell me, Pulfrey, did you get _your _letter?”

“Sure,” Pulfrey drawled, “but my parents don’t want me going to Hogwarts. They’re sending me to Durmstrang instead.”

There was an explosion of chaos, which was surely the effect Pulfrey had wanted.

“Durmstrang? The Dark Arts school?”

“Abroad?”

“But nobody in Belgium speaks English!”

“Oh, I’ll figure it out,” Pulfrey said coolly, “it shouldn’t be too hard. But it’s going to be much better than life at _Hogwarts, _you should all consider it. After all, Dumbledore’s the new Headmaster at Hogwarts, and he’s a Muggle-lover.”

“What’s wrong with Muggles?” James demanded, feeling that there was something wrong with Pulfrey’s assessment but unable to put a finger on what it was. “They’re just like us, they only don’t have magic.”

“Exactly, Potter! They don’t have magic. So what would you say, then, about Muggleborns? Children born to _non-magic _parents, just allowed to walk in the door with all the rest of us?”

James had to admit that he didn’t know much about Muggleborns, only that there were several Muggleborns in his own blood line and that kept the Potters from being one of the “Sacred Twenty-Eight” Pureblood families. But he knew there’d be Muggleborns at school, which had to mean they were magic, too.

“Albus Dumbledore would never do anything that wasn’t right,” James said. “He defeated Grindelwald, remember, and he did it because Grindelwald wanted to kill Muggles!”

“And how right is that, Potter? Muggles rule the world, while wizards are forced to hide and keep themselves secret! My dad talks about it all the time. How right is that?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll prove it to you!” James said hotly. “I’ll race you after all! Let me get my broom!”

In seconds, he had run into the house, grabbed it from its place under the wash basin, and run back out, gripping it tightly in one hand. When the other boys saw this, they let out a cheer.

“Want to have a go, Pulfrey?” James demanded. “Race me down the block and back!”

“Just down the block? What are you, a sissy? But I’m forgetting, most Muggle sympathizers are—”

“I’ll race you to the end of Godric’s Hollow and back!” James straddled his broomstick before anyone could tell him otherwise, and the boys’ eyes widened, even Pulfrey’s. “Or are _you _a sissy?”

“It’s on, Potter!” Robin Pulfrey straddled his own broomstick, and the two boys glared at one another. “Diggs, count us off!”

“All right, boys, back away, give them some room,” Diggs said. “Bailey, you can time them.” He cleared his throat. “On your marks…get set...”

James bent low over his broom.

“GO!”

James and Pulfrey kicked off, tearing down the street as fast as they could. Within seconds, James had shot into the lead, whipping neatly between houses and keeping Pulfrey just out of reach. He felt a thrill run through him. He had been waiting all week for this…he had waited just to feel the wind in his hair and leaves whipping at him…although he would really like to have goggles to keep his glasses on better…but it didn’t matter. He recognized this part of the street, he was almost there--

James reached the end of the village, stopped, turned around, and zoomed back toward his house; Pulfrey was a second or two behind him. Of course, if he had a better broomstick, if he played Quidditch, he could turn around without stopping; but at this point, Pulfrey was no better at it than he was. But there was no telling what would happen…so many great Quidditch players came from Belgium…

Distracted by his thoughts about Durmstrang, James was alarmed to see Pulfrey riding up next to him. “Muggle got your tongue, Potter?”

Furious at the taunt, James pushed his broomstick faster, shoving Pulfrey slightly…he couldn’t shake him, they were coming up on a tight corner…James braced himself, turning the broomstick with him as he flew, and Pulfrey didn’t. James had always been better at turns, James would always be better at turns; but although he’d finally shaken his rival off, Pulfrey regained speed almost instantly, and was right behind him again, reaching out a hand for James’ broomstick—

Filled with a desperation to win, James deserted the course. He tore through a garden, whipped past a poor old witch walking down the street, flew over a fence, nicked the corner of his father’s sign reading ODD AND RIDICULOUS POTIONS STORED HERE, and slammed his head on the corner of his own house. Pain exploded in his forehead, and he fell off his broom, landing flat on his back in the middle of the lawn.

After several seconds, it occurred to James that he might have won. His eyesight blurry, he looked up at the boys who were gathered around him. “What happened?”he asked, his voice sounding all mushy; something in his mouth hurt. “I won, didn’t I?”

“You won all right,” Bailey said, “but…”

“Here.” Someone put his glasses on his face. James blinked as he reoriented himself with the world, looked around at his surroundings, and looked up at the person standing behind the neighbor boys.

It was his father.

For the first time in James’ life, words failed him. His tongue froze in his mouth, and he stared at his father, who stood with his arms crossed and looking more furious than James had ever seen him before.

“Dad,” he stammered, “Dad, I can—I can explain—"

“Boys,” Mr. Potter said, “I think it’s almost time for dinner.”

“Right, sir,”Pulfrey said, and he took off for his house, the other boys close behind him.

“Dad,” James tried again once they were alone, but surprisingly, his father extended a hand to him.

“Get up, James,” Mr. Potter said, and something like a smile almost crossed his face. “I don’t think you want to keep lying on the ground with a bleeding tooth, do you?”

“Oh. Oh, right.” James took his father’s proffered hand. “Dad—Dad, I didn’t want to race them, I kept telling “them no, I cleaned up the kitchen and read the paper—”

“James—”

“Then they were asking me if I got my letter to Hogwarts, and I decided to just tell them, and not to race or anything—”

“_James—” _

“And I told them, and we were talking about Hogwarts, but then Robin Pulfrey started saying he’s going to Durmstrang, and Albus Dumbledore is a Muggle-lover and that that’s bad for some reason, and then—”

“JAMES FLEAMONT POTTER!”

James froze, terrified out of his mind.

“Mrs. Bailey heard everything,” Mr. Potter said softly, and in that moment James realized that his father was smiling. “I’m proud of you, James. It’s not easy to stand up for an opinion that is becoming less popular by the day—and especially when you know so little about it!”

James couldn’t believe it. He was not in trouble, he was being _praised! _But he didn’t dare smile yet, not when, for the first time in the week, he could not guess how this was going to end.

“Thanks, Dad,” he said.

Mr. Potter pulled him in for a brief hug, then ruffled his hair. “You’re never going to get this monstrosity of yours to lie flat, are you?”

James shook his head ruefully.

“Let’s get inside,” Mr. Potter said, “and take that bloody broomstick with you.” James waited in trepidation, but his father went on. “I daresay you’ve earned the right to keep it!”

James laughed as they approached the door. “Thanks.”

“Let’s get you cleaned up before your mother sees you,” Mr. Potter said, “and then you can come to dinner. You’ll need to eat quickly, because you know…we have a big day tomorrow.” He waggled his eyebrows meaningfully.

James froze in front of the door. Did this mean what he thought it meant?

“What do you mean, Dad?”he asked carefully.

“What do you think I mean, James?” Mr. Potter shouted. He hadn’t been this excited since the Minister of Magic had appeared in the _Daily Prophet _with his hair clearly under the use of the Sleekeazy Hair Potion. “Tomorrow we’ll be up bright and early, because I’m taking you to Diagon Alley two weeks early!”

And then, as Mr. Potter gave James a final hug and opened the door, as they walked inside to greet Mrs. Potter, James finally allowed himself the ear-splitting grin he’d been waiting for all week.


	3. Chapter Three: A Wrong Turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet a very familiar face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to CassiaBaneberry for looking over this work and awaiting each chapter patiently!

True to his word, Mr. Potter came into James’ bedroom at half past five the next morning to wake him up. James had barely slept the previous night, he was so excited, but as soon as he saw his father’s bespectacled face in front of his, he remembered immediately.

“Is it time?” he whispered excitedly.

“Yes, yes, it is!” Mr. Potter, as well, seemed hardly able to contain his own excitement, having waited for this day longer than was the usual for most wizarding parents. “Get up, get dressed quickly, the Floo Powder’s ready, we’ll eat on the way!”

Floo Powder! His dad really _was _excited—James had _never _been allowed to travel by Floo Powder before. He did his washing up in record time; the only way he’d have been able to do it faster would be if he’d been allowed to do it on his broomstick.

“Sorry, James, your dress robes are a bit shabby,” his mother said as she straightened his collar and made sure he looked presentable. “I’ll have to get you some new ones.”

“Oh, it doesn’t _matter, _Mum,” he said, hardly able to stand still. “Why d’you have to take so long anyway? I have to get to Diagon Alley! What if Dad can’t find his way?”

“He’s been there before, James. He won’t get lost.”

“Okay, but what if things have changed? What if dozens of children have gotten there before me? What if the books are all sold out?” The latter was a thought that had occurred to him several times the previous night. What if he couldn’t buy his books, and the teachers had to give him shabby ones? No one would like him if everything he had was second rate!

“Don’t worry, James, they won’t be sold out. They never are.” Mrs. Potter straightened his robes, adjusted his glasses, and tried to flatten down his hair, though this last task failed miserably. “Honestly, your father invented a hair potion and I can never keep yours flat! Never mind.” She smiled. “I think you’re ready. Off you go, now!”

Mr. Potter was standing in front of the fireplace, and he was wearing his best suit and holding a basin containing a peculiar kind of dust. “All ready, James?”

“Sure, Dad!” Curious, James tried to peer into the basin, but was pushed away. “Is that Floo Powder?”

“Yes, and don’t stick your head in it unless you want to end up in America!” Mrs. Potter laughed. “Now, you’ve never used this before, James, so I’ll have to explain it to you—”

“Not more explaining,” he groaned. “Can’t we just leave? It can’t be that hard!”

“Not if you know what you’re doing,” his father said, “which you most certainly do not. Now, listen to your mother, or some very terrible things might happen on our way to Diagon Alley.”

After a week of boredom, that idea sounded fascinating, but James decided he’d better listen if he wanted to go to Diagon Alley. “Er, all right. I’m listening, Mum.”

She smiled. “Floo Powder works in a peculiar sort of way. You take some out of the basin, about a handful, stand in the middle of the fireplace—”

“Sorry, Mum,” James said, rubbing his ear; maybe he was still tired. “I don’t think I heard you right. You didn’t say _stand in the fireplace, _did you?”

“Yes, James, that’s exactly what I said.”

James swallowed, uncertain for the first time. “Oh.”

“As I was saying, you stand in the fireplace—don’t worry, there’s no sort of fire in there at all—you throw the ash on the floor in front of you, and say the name of your destination, as loudly and as clearly as you possibly can. That’s the point, James: _loudly _and _clearly. _For example, I would say…” She cleared her throat. “Diagon Alley!”

“Yes, I heard that, if you were wondering,” James said.

“Now, now, James,” Mr. Potter said, “don’t give your mother cheek.”

“Sorry, Dad…are we going to go now?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Potter said, “but first you need to repeat the rules of Floo Powder back to me, so I can see you understand the process.”

James rolled his eyes. “Mum, I understand everything you told me. I promise, I’ll do fine—”

“James, I don’t think you do understand! Haven’t you heard anything I’ve been saying? If you don’t do it just perfectly, you could wind up in entirely the wrong place…you could travel hallway across the world, and we would have no idea, because we have no way of contacting you—”

“All right, Mum, all right.” James sighed. “I take a handful of ash, I stand in the fireplace that will most definitely not be on fire, I throw the ash, I speak the name of the place I’m going to _loudly _and _clearly, _or I could wind up sitting on my grandfather’s grave.” He looked at her pleadingly. “All right, I know everything, can I please—”

“Yes, James, yes!” Mrs. Potter gave him a quick kiss and a hug, and then followed suit by kissing Mr. Potter on the mouth, at which point James looked away, disgusted. “I love you both, please be safe!”

“Euphemia, Diagon Alley has always been safe,” Mr. Potter said, “though if James were Muggleborn…”

“Don’t talk about that, dear,” Mrs. Potter said in that voice she used when she was trying to change the subject to something lighter. James found himself thinking of the fiasco with Pulfrey the day before; could the talk about Muggleborn wizards and witches be something more serious? He _had _seen something about it in the _Daily Prophet…_

Mr. Potter cleared his throat pointedly. “Well, James, I think it’s time.”

“You’d better go first, Fleamont,” Mrs. Potter said, ushering her husband forward, “so James can see how it’s done.”

“Right, Eupheme.” Mr. Potter gave James’ shoulder a squeeze. “Don’t worry, James, it’s easy…there’s no reason to be scared.”

James scowled. “I’m not scared.”

“Very well, very well…” Mr. Potter strode forward, reached into the basin, and took out a handful of ash. “Is the fire out, Euphemia?”

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “You put it out yourself, Fleamont!”

“Oh, yes, that’s right. Silly me.” Mr. Potter stepped into the middle of the fireplace. “Now, James, watch me very carefully…”

“I’m watching, Dad,” James said, “because this is all so fascinating…watching my dad standing in the middle of a fireplace, doing nothing.”

Mr. Potter sighed, seeming to understand that he was prolonging this more than necessary. He threw the ash on the floor, and it exploded into the air, making James put a hand to his mouth to keep from coughing. “Diagon Alley!”

Green fire roared up from the fireplace, as if a dragon had suddenly landed in the middle of the house. James’ mouth dropped open as a rush of wind flattened his hair and shook his glasses…and then, quite suddenly, his father was gone.

“Wait,” he said. “He was here—then the fire—now he’s gone…” He looked at his mother, confused. “Did—did he go to Diagon Alley? Just like that?”

“Oh, James, you’ve never seen us Apparating, have you? Although that’s much less flashy…” Mrs. Potter ushered James forward, to the basin that now seemed more exciting than ever. “Take a handful, James…there, that’s good, not too much—”

James moved to stand by the fireplace, then remembered where he was supposed to be and hastily moved back several steps. Magically, the fireplace expanded to accommodate him until he was standing squarely in the center.

“There you go, just like that,” Mrs. Potter said. “Now, say ‘Diagon Alley,’ and don’t forget to make it clear—”

“I _know, _Mum, I know.” James flashed her a grin. “See you soon.” He threw the ash on the floor, and it sprayed a cloud of dust high into the air. He opened his mouth to speak, but got a mouthful of ash and began coughing. “Di—Diagon Alley!”

The green fire roared up around him, and James immediately felt himself squeezed by an invisible force and taken somewhere—he shot up into the air, or maybe it was down, he didn’t know—he tried to move sideways, to see where he was going, but there were tight walls around him and he banged his elbow on something—he twisted around, he thought he might be sick—and then, a second later, everything stopped moving, and he tumbled out onto the ground, his mouth full of ash, his eyes burning, and feeling as though he’d rolled around in the Sahara Desert for a week.

James got up and looked around, searching for his father; but to his alarm, he couldn’t find him anywhere. Nor, he realized, did this look like Diagon Alley; his father had shown him pictures, and it always looked like such a bright place. Either Diagon Alley had changed in a year, or this was not, in fact, Diagon Alley: he had landed in a dark, narrow alley, closely packed with shops and shifty-looking wizards. 

“Er…Dad?”he called, but he still couldn’t see his father.

There was an explosion of ash, and two people arrived. James started toward them, but realized that neither of them were his father. It was, instead, a woman and her son, both black-haired and sallow-faced, with a rather unpleasant look to them. The boy, who looked to be around James’ age, gave him a contemptible sneer, then followed his mother down the alley.

James was beginning to feel distinctly less sure of himself by the moment; maybe his mother had been right, after all, and he hadn’t spoken clearly enough. He had coughed, after all…what if he wasn’t in London at all? What if he wasn’t in _England? _What if…a terrifying thought took hold of him. What if he was in Belgium, where Pulfrey and all the other students going to Durmstrang would be shopping?

James noticed a tall wizard passing him. “Excuse me—”

“Don’t bother me,” said the wizard, and James was extremely relieved to realize that he could understand him; so he was still in England, then. “If you’re lost I can’t do anything about it!”

James moved on, past the wizard, but the further he went, the eerier the alley seemed to become. Along the streets there were lined odd objects, most of them dark and ugly, and there was hardly anyone to be seen. He thought about asking someone else for help, but the wizard he’d run into had shown him that nobody here would be of any help whatsoever; he’d have to find his way out himself.

After several yards he crossed the path of a very old witch, who didn’t look like a person James would want to talk to for very long. James tried to move away from her, but she seized his arm and drew him close to her.

“Have you ever been interested in the Dark Arts?”she whispered, her voice ancient-sounding and very croaky. “I have Dark artefacts here in my bag…if you would like to purchase one…”

“No—no, thanks,” James said, pulling his arm out of her grasp. “I don’t have any money on me, so don’t think about stealing, either.”

She seemed to understand that he wouldn’t be fooled by her display, so she walked on. More than a little unsettled now, James turned back to his own path and walked on. If he could only figure out where he _was, _he could get out of here! He realized, rather belatedly, that he could have asked the witch, but he wasn’t about to go back and ask her now.

The street narrowed, and James was pressed closer to the wall as a scruffy-looking wizard passed him. The wizard was carrying an odd sort of handbag, which was strange for a man. It bulged at the seams, and James found himself wondering what was _in _the handbag. Was it a creature? Perhaps an _illegal _creature? Piles and piles of hidden money? Was he…was he a _robber? _James felt both terrified and excited at the thought of that. For one thing, he didn’t have a wand and wouldn’t be able to defend himself if the wizard attacked him; but on the other hand, when he got back home, he’d be able to tell Robin Pulfrey he’d met a criminal! Or…another thought crossed his mind as the man walked a little faster. Maybe he was carrying a secret object that nobody could know about! That would be really exciting…

“What are you lookin’ at?”the man snarled, and James realized that he had been staring for a suspiciously long time. “Not one of them little thieves, are yeh?”

“No, no,” James said, thinking wildly, “I’m…I’m selling something.”

“Sellin’? Borgin and Burkes is on the other side o’ the street; and besides, yer too young.” His eyes narrowed. “I think yer lyin’, boy. So tell me again…who sent you?” He whipped out his wand. “Who sent you? Wasn’t Albus Dumbledore, was it?”

“I—I don’t know,” James stammered, the only words he could think to say. The wizard came closer, and James stumbled back, bumping into something hard: the wall. He was trapped! The wizard raised his wand— 

Desperately, James fumbled behind him for some sort of an exit, found it in the way of a doorknob, turned it, and fell backwards and into a building. The door closed behind him, and James looked round, caught off balance by his sudden escape. There was nothing but empty space behind him, so James wobbled a bit, seized a rack to his right, and looked out of the window. The wizard with the handbag seemed to be looking back and forth, and James ducked; but apparently he didn’t see anyone, and soon stalked away, looking severely disappointed. James let out a sigh of relief and slowly stood up; he was safe.

“Oh, hello,” said a voice behind him. “Are you here for a Screeching Skull? Scares the skin right off your bones, I heard—but only if you shout.”

James jumped and whirled round, but it was only a boy about his own age. The boy had dark hair, like himself, only it didn’t stick up and was thicker and much less scruffy. The boy was shorter than James by about half an inch, without glasses or a pointed nose, and distinctly better looking. He was dressed all in black from head to toe, which seemed to have something to do with the pallor of his skin; but the clothes looked well-made and well-tailored, richer, and certainly better than James’ shabby robes.

“Er…no,” he said, having no idea what the boy was talking about.

“Me neither. My mum likes Screeching Skulls, for some reason, but I can’t understand what she sees in them.” A careless grin graced his face. “Who are you, anyway? I’m Black—Sirius Black.”

“James Potter,” James said, and he offered his hand. A second later, Sirius Black took it. “Are you going to Hogwarts?”

“Yeah, shopping for it now,” Sirius said, “except for some reason my mum wanted to stop in here. She likes it, and some of my parents’ friends do, too. I can’t see why, it’s not very useful…unless you wanted to surprise someone you really hated with the Hand of Glory.” He pointed to an ugly, gnarled old hand that looked like it had crawled out of a graveyard, resting on the wall.

“Really?” James asked, thinking of Robin Pulfrey. “What’s it do?”

The devilish grin crossed Sirius’ face again. “Oh, brilliant stuff. You think it’s just an old hand, you reach out—and _snap!_” He moved his left hand very fast, pretending to clamp it over his right, and laughed. “It grabs onto yours! It’d take real magic to get that off a person, and I bet nobody’d cross you for weeks!”

James decided that he liked Sirius.

“Do you fly?”he asked, it being the first question to come into his mind. “On a broomstick, I mean—like Quidditch.”

Immediately, Sirius gasped. “Quidditch! I love Quidditch, I follow all the teams. England’s teams haven’t been great lately, so I started following Ireland’s. They’re good, I bet one of them’ll win the World Cup in a few years. I fly, too, I have my own broomstick, but Mum won’t let me bring it to Hogwarts. Says she doesn’t want it taken away…” Sirius stuck out his tongue. “She’s a stickler about those sorts of things. I just wish I could ride a broomstick, I’ll get no practice for a whole year!”

“That’s okay,” James said, “you can ride mine. I’m bringing it, it’s a Cleansweep Two.”

Sirius’ eyes lit up. “You’re _bringing _one? And it’s a Cleansweep? Blimey! For a toy broom, that’s as good as they come!”

James felt suddenly offended. “Toy broom? This cost my parents—”

“No, no, I’m not trying to insult you,” Sirius said quickly, “I mean, there’s no other kind of broom we can have, is there? Not until we start playing _real _Quidditch.”

“Yeah, right,” James said, his feelings of animosity melting away in an instant. He looked round, seeing no one but himself and Sirius Black in the corner of the shop. “Hey, I need to ask you a question, and I think you’re...well, a bit trustworthy.”

“Me, trustworthy?” Sirius laughed. “Wait ‘til you get to know me.”

“Well, I’m not very trustworthy, either,” James said, “so I guess we’re two of a kind. D’you know where we are?”

“Borgin and Burkes,” Sirius said, “like I said, it’s a shop for weirdos, only don’t tell my mum I said that…” He blinked. “Did you _mean_ to come in here?”

“No,” James said, “I came by the Floo Network—”

“That’s it,” Sirius said. “First time?”

“Yes,” James admitted, his face flushing. Sirius Black clearly belonged to a good wizarding family, and James didn’t want to look a fool in front of him. What would Sirius think of him, he wondered, if he knew his parents were old enough to be his _grand_parents? “But I knew the theory and everything, my dad’s done it loads of times—”

“But you missed the right grate,” Sirius said, “and came out in Knockturn Alley instead. Makes sense, I did it my first time too.”

James blinked. “Knockturn Alley?”

“Yeah, that’s where we are. Bit of a shady place, but useful if you want to get around…point is, you’re not very far off the mark at all. This is Knockturn, and if you went down the street and around, well, you’d find yourself in Diagon Alley!”

“Really?” James gave an immense sigh of relief; what if he’d been halfway across the country? “Hey, what if we did that on purpose?”

From the way Sirius knit his eyebrows together, James could tell he was intrigued. “What d’you mean?”

“Well,” James said, “what if our parents were going to take us someplace we didn’t want to go, and we were going by Floo…”

Sirius gasped. “We could mess it up on purpose!”

James laughed. “It wouldn’t be for very long, and we could figure out how to get out of it. But it’d give us an excuse to run around without our parents for a while!”

“James, mate,” Sirius said, “you know that’s dangerous, right? Messing around with the Floo Network?”

“Yeah,” James said.

Sirius grinned. “I love it! We should try that next year, or something. Or maybe in two weeks, when we’re going to the Hogwarts train!”

“No, next year sounds good. We’ll be too excited to get to Hogwarts, Sirius!”

“Yeah, you’re right. Next year it is!”

_Bang! _

“What is _happening_ out there?”an old wizard exclaimed.

_Slam!_

“That’ll be the door,” Sirius supplied helpfully.

“I think I know what a slamming door sounds like, thanks—”

“Help me, I need help! Has anyone seen my son? He’s a small boy, rather skinny, with hair that sticks up and wearing glasses—”

James gasped. “Dad!” He looked at Sirius in a panic. “I completely forgot, he’s probably worried sick!”

Sirius shrugged. “They do that sometimes, it’s nothing to—”

“Come on!” James seized Sirius’ arm and pulled him forward, out of the back of the store. Mr. Potter looked haggard, and was talking frantically to several rather uninterested witches. “Dad! Dad, I’m right here!”

“James! Merlin’s beard!” Mr. Potter strode forward, gave James a tight hug, and immediately began patting him down for injuries. “I couldn’t find you anywhere—I’ve been asking all over Diagon Alley—”

“Dad, really, I’m fine—”

“You must have come out at the wrong grate! It wasn’t Knockturn Alley, was it? Did you wander here by mistake?”

“No, it was Knockturn Alley,” James said, “but I’m fine, honestly, there’s nothing to worry about. Hey—hey, Dad—”

He’d meant to introduce Sirius, but at that precise moment his father finishes checking to see if he was hurt and gave him a very tight, much longer hug. James had to admit that, exciting as it had been to get lost and wander into a strange store and meet Sirius Black, it was very nice to be able to see his father again, and he suddenly remembered how frightened he’d been _before _wandering into Borgin and Burkes.

At last, Mr. Potter pulled back, giving James’ hair a ruffle. James cast a glance at Sirius, and was surprised to see that his new friend looked a little envious.

“Dad,” James said, seizing Sirius’ arm and pulling him forward, “I ran into a boy in the store—”

“Almost literally,” Sirius said, who was acting much more like himself again. “I was in the back of the store, _minding _my own _business, _when I turned around to see James! I’d wondered if he was there to buy a Screeching Skull, though he didn’t look like the type…”

“Shut it,” James said, shoving Sirius playfully. They both laughed. “His name’s Sirius Black.”

A strange look passed through Mr. Potter’s eyes; it was odd, and cold, and James didn’t know if he liked it. But then the moment was gone, and Mr. Potter smiled, seized Sirius’ hand, and began pumping it enthusiastically. “Sirius Black, eh? Well, then, I owe you my thanks for finding my son!”

“Thanks, sir,” Sirius said with a grin, “but I’d say he found me instead!”

“Sirius!” A woman’s shrill voice sounded from the back of the store. “I thought you were looking at the artefacts. Where did you get to?”

“Oh, Mum’s calling,” said Sirius hastily, “I’d better go.” He turned around to call. “Coming, Mum!”

“Yes, you’d better!” she shot back, in a tone James’ mother would never have used on _him_.

“We’d better go, son,” Mr. Potter said, starting to pull James to the door.

“See you, Sirius!” James called as he was dragged out of Borgin and Burkes.

“Yeah!” Sirius shouted back. “See you on the Hogwarts Express!”


	4. Chapter Four: Diagon Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and his father take the long-awaited shopping trip. James meets a nasty, familiar face.

“Dad, I really didn’t mean to,” James said as they walked out of Knockturn Alley. “I couldn’t see through the ash—and I started coughing—and then I wound up here, and Sirius Black is really funny—”

“He might be funny, and I have to admit I like him,” Mr. Potter said. “But he comes from a terribly wizarding family.”

“Well, that shouldn’t matter, should it? After all, come September first and he’ll be spending three months with them and nine with me.”

“No, it shouldn’t matter. But to some people, it does.” Mr. Potter steered James with a hand on his shoulder. “Turn here.”

The day had suddenly become brighter, and as they came out of the alley, James gasped. There were so many colors, so many people, so much _noise_! Diagon Alley was a spectacular little road full of colorful shops and colorful wizards. One odd-looking man in particular came past shouting, “If it’s your first time attending Hogwarts, you can buy one of these Rainbow Tongue-Twisters and you’ll never have to worry about attending classes again!”

That idea sounded so interesting that James tried to turn around and buy one, but his father steered him back around, and they kept walking.

“What in Merlin’s name are you going to do with one of those, James?” Mr. Potter laughed. “You know that I support creativity, but not in your first year, and _certainly _not to skip class!”

James heartily disagreed, but he didn’t say anything more about it. He was also sure that Sirius Black would have been all in support of buying a Rainbow Tongue-Twister, but he said nothing about that either.

After several minutes they stopped inside a rather large, white building that James thought he almost recognized, but couldn’t put a name to it. Fortunately, his father saved him from embarrassment by announcing, as if to the whole world, “_This _is Gringotts!”

“The wizarding bank?”

“That’s it, James. We need to go there first, to your vault, so that you can get money to spend on your things.”

James looked up at his dad in surprise. “I have a vault?”

“Yes, your mother and I’ve put money into it for eleven years.” Mr. Potter stopped walking and lowered his voice. “Now, James, you’ll have to be careful in there…Gringotts is run by the goblins, you know.”

James knew this, but he didn’t understand what was wrong with the goblins; only today was he beginning to realize how little his parents had told him about the world. “And what does that mean?”

“Well…” Mr. Potter ran a hand nervously through his hair. “I haven’t told you because it’s a bit of a touchy subject, I didn’t want you running your mouth off before you were old enough. But you’ll have to know now…the goblins have an old quarrel with our kind, with wizards. No one remembers the exact specifics of what happened, but there was an old war, and I must confess that the wizards were rather horrible to the goblins. The goblins did terrible things of their own, but the wizards stole many things that belonged to the goblins and treated them badly.”

“Is that one of the things wizards don’t like to hear about?” Many years ago, Mr. Potter had told James that there were many sensitive subjects in the wizarding world, such as house elves, that wizards were on the wrong side of but would never admit it. James had never known the details, but he did know that most pureblood families kept a house elf, but his parents never had.

“Yes, James. Now, don’t say anything more about it; we wouldn’t want to appear rude, would we?” Mr. Potter offered his son a smile. They walked up the white stone steps, past a small creature with a swarthy face and very long fingers—a goblin. James looked away. The goblin opened the doors, and Mr. Potter bowed; James thought he’d better do the same.

Once inside, James found himself facing a second pair of doors, exactly like the others except for the fact that they were silver, and they had words engraved upon them:

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_ Of what awaits the sin of greed, _

_ For those who take, but do not earn, _

_ Must pay most dearly in their turn. _

_ So if you seek beneath our floors _

_ A treasure that was never yours, _

_ Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_ Of finding more than treasure there. _

“They really must not want us taking anything,” James said, and received a stern look from his father.

A pair of goblins led Mr. Potter and his son through the silver doors and into a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins sat on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins on brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. Too many doors to count led out of the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. James wondered if it was _only _money the goblins had in here, and if it was, whey they were making such a fuss about keeping it guarded. It would certainly be _nice _to get free money, but not at the cost of breaking into Gringotts. However, if something _else _was stored in here; say, a broomstick, or a cursed object, or a dragon, or—

Mr. Potter was making for the counter. Snapping himself out of his reverie, James followed, though his eyes still roamed the large hall, wondering at what sorts of treasures the goblins had stashed away here for centuries.

“Morning,” Mr. Potter said cheerfully to a free goblin. “It is a good one, isn’t it?”

“Mmm,” said the goblin noncommittally.

“I’ve come to take some money out of Mr. James Potter’s vault,” Mr. Potter said, with a little less confidence.

The goblin leaned forward, as if noticing James for the first time. His gaze was so sharp, as if it could penetrate to the bottom of James’ soul, that James found himself looking away. “And does Mr. James Potter have his key?”

Key? He needed a key? But he didn’t have a key! In a panic, James looked at his father only to find that Mr. Potter had already withdrawn a key from his breastpocket. James relaxed slightly. He should have known better to worry about that…

“I have it here,” Mr. Potter said earnestly, holding up the key, “because he’s my son, sir, and—“

“Yes, I can see that. I will have someone take you down to the vault. Ragnok!”

Ragnok was another goblin, and he appeared almost immediately, bestowing a smile upon Mr. Potter that didn’t seem as if it should qualify as such. “If you would follow me.”

“Dad,” James whispered, “is there anything else in Gringotts? You know, besides money?”

Mr. Potter gave his son a very skeptical look.

“I…I was just wondering,” James added weakly.

“Well, of course you were, you’re my son. But James, Gringotts is a very dangerous place to be asking such questions. It is rumored,” he said, lowering his voice, “that there are very ancient, cursed objects kept in secret vaults; that’s why they hire wizards as Curse-Breakers and other such things. But I have no idea where any of them are. I haven’t been prominent in the wizarding community since you were born.”

Ragnok held the door open for them. James was surprised; the passageway before them was stone, not marble, and it was narrow and lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Ragnok whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks toward them. They climbed in and were off. At first they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages that carried them past hundreds of doors and other passageways. Excited, James leaned forward, trying to remember the various turns and twists, but it was impossible. Eventually, he sat back in the seat next to his father, who gave him a stern stare.

It wasn’t long then until the cart stopped, and Ragnok came round to unlock the door. A lot of green smoke billowed out, and James gasped. Inside were piles of silver Sickles and gold Galleons and bronze coins—the bronze ones were Knuts, James remembered, he’d gotten a few as an allowance from his parents. But this was fifteen times as much money as he’d ever thought he’d have in his entire life! Suddenly James understood why someone might want to steal from Gringotts, even if there were no broomsticks inside.

Mr. Potter helped James pile some into a bag, explaining how twenty-one Knuts made a Sickle and thirteen Sickles made a Galleon, but James hardly thought he’d remember all that so long as he had his own money to spend.

“What am I going to use all this on?”he couldn’t help asking.

“The Hogwarts Express, certainly,” Mr. Potter replied, “they bring round a trolley of food on the journey there.”

“Oh, good. I was worried we wouldn’t be able to eat—“

“Well, if you don’t, I think you’ll survive a few hours without food.” Mr. Potter stood, and James with him. “Thank you, Mr. Ragnok, your service is most appreciated—“

“Don’t bother with that,” Ragnok growled. “This way.”

He led them back to the cart and unlocked the door. James was about to climb in when something crashed several doors down, sending a large echo down the hall past James’ vault. For a few seconds, it seemed to shake the very walls of Gringotts; and then the sound was gone, followed by an almost deafening silence.

“All right, get on, get on,” Ragnok said impatiently, motioning James and Mr. Potter forward. Reluctantly, James climbed into the cart, followed by his father and then Ragnok, and was left to wonder what in Merlin’s name was large enough to make such a noise.

One wild cart ride later James and his father stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. James looked round, wondering where to go first, and then realized that he didn’t even know what he needed.

“Dad,” he said, tugging on Mr. Potter’s sleeve, “Dad, my list—“

“Ah! You’re right, James, how could I forget? So sorry…” Mr. Potter rifled about in his coat, digging through several other objects in the process, including an empty flask, a firecracker, and a magical eye that moved constantly back and forth. Finally he came up with the list and unfurled it, holding it up so James could see it. “Hmm…let’s see now…”

Peering over Mr. Potter’s shoulder, James read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

_of _WITCHCRAFT _and _WIZARDRY

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

Three sets of plain work robes (black)

One pointed hat(black) for day wear

One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils’ clothing should carry name tags

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

_The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)_

by Miranda Goshawk

_A History of Magic _by Bathilda Bagshot

_Magical Theory _by Adalbert Waffling

_A Beginners’ Guide to Transfiguration _

by Emeric Switch

_One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_

by Phillida Spore

_Potions For The Beginner _by Fleamont Potter

_Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them _

by Newt Scamander

_The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection _

by Quenrin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

1 broomstick (optional)

Slowly, James looked up at his father. “Dad, you didn’t tell me you’d written a book.”

“Well…” Mr. Potter looked almost embarrassed. “I didn’t think Dumbledore would put it on the list. There are much better potioneers, you know…so much more experienced…”

“No one else got to retire early, Dad,” James said. “So no one else is as good as you. Honest.”

That seemed to make Mr. Potter feel better, and he stowed the list away in his coat again. “Well, we had better get a move on, hadn’t we? Let’s get your books first.”

Said books were to be found at Flourish and Blotts, a shop filled with books from ceiling to floor. The books came in all sizes, too, from the size of a postcard stamp to the size of a dictionary; some were so packed with words that the authors had had to write into the margins, and some books had nothing in them at all! James, who had never liked reading much, suddenly found himself paging through book after book as his father hunted down the ones needed for school. He had never thought such books as _Jinxes and Countercurses For Enemies _and _How To Perfect Your Transfiguration Into A Lion, Among Other Things _existed. As he paged through one on potions and drafts, he found that a familiar black-haired boy was looking at another copy.

“Hello,” James said, hoping it might be Sirius Black, but as the boy raised his head, James realized it wasn’t Sirius at all; instead, it was the swarthy boy he’d seen in Knockturn Alley, who’d given him a sneer.

“What?”the boy said, rather irritably. “I’m reading, you know.”

James instantly wished he hadn’t said anything at all, but his interaction with Sirius had gotten him a friend; maybe this would turn out the same way. “Sorry. I just…my dad’s a famous potioneer, you know, so I know quite a bit about potions.”

“Do you?” Now the boy looked a little more interested. “I like potions well enough, but I can never seem to remember the final ingredient in the forgetfulness potion. Do you know what it is?”

James had no idea. He was beginning to wish he knew how to Disapparate; or, better, how to cast a Memory Charm so that he could make the boy forget they’d ever met.

“No,” he said.

“Oh. I see. What about Polyjuice Potion?”

James had actually heard his father mention something about that, once…or twice… “Isn’t that the one where you have to add the hairs of the person you want to disguise yourself as?”

“Yes,” the pale boy said shortly, sounding less and less pleased by the minute. “Anything else?”

“Er…no.”

“Draught of Living Death?”

“Er…I think I almost can, just a minute—“

“Never mind.” The boy shook his head, giving James a look of disdain before disappearing into the shop.

“All ready, James?” Mr. Potter was suddenly there at his elbow. “Let’s get a move on!”

After that unpleasant experience James wasn’t in any hurry to meet anyone else. Fortunately, the rest of the day passed without many other problems. Next they visited Madam Malkin’s, where James was fitted for his robes and absolutely fussed over by the older witch for half an hour while she reminisced with his father about their time at Hogwarts. (Frankly, James was glad at the end of that experience.)

Afterward, they ventured into the Apothecary, which proved even more of an ordeal. They were only there to get James’ few supplies for Potions; but naturally, Mr. Potter seemed to want to look at everything, seizing each opportunity to point out a bezoar, “because it can cure any poison, James, _any poison, _I myself had to use one on several occasions and found it quite useful,” or explain the crucial difference between unicorn horns and dragon claws, “which had been discovered by Zygmunt Budge when he used the wrong one to help his wife give birth and ended up turning his newborn son into a half-lizard for five days before he could transfigure him back.” The only item in the shop that James found remotely interesting was the Death-Defying Slime—although it smelled as if it had come out of the wrong end of an owl, the witch at the counter told him that if he drank it the proper way he could fake his death and start a different life in Italy. He and Sirius might have a lot of fun with that one…

“I understand your respect for my talent, James, but you most certainly do not want to fake your death,” Mr. Potter said as they left the Apothecary while James smirked behind his hand. “Here, let’s take a trip over to Eeylops Owl Emporium, you still need your owl.”

Fifteen minutes and many thanks later, James left the bustling shop with his father and a beautiful, tawny brown owl perched on his right arm. “Thanks so much, Dad,” he kept saying, and his father kept shushing him and telling him it was quite all right.

“So, James,” Mr. Potter said after several minutes, “what do you think you’ll call him? You could name him after a potioneer, of course, I know many of those…or one of the Four Founders…or after Nibley, you like him—“

“Falco Aesalon,” James said, repeating a name he’d seen in the Transfiguration book. “Maybe Falco for short, though.”

“Falco Aesalon?” Mr. Potter said thoughtfully. “Wasn’t he one of the first Animagi?”

“Animagi?” James echoed. “What’s that?”

“An Animagus,” Mr. Potter explained, “is a witch or wizard who can transform into an animal at will. It’s severely advanced magic, only the most skilled wizards can do that. But anyhow, Falco Aesalon was…I think he could turn into a bird.” He stroked Falco, who hooted playfully. “What a coincidence! Wonderful choice, James, wonderful choice.”

They moved down to the street to the last shop, a narrow and shabby building engraved with peeling gold letters that read OLLIVANDERS: MAKERS OF FINE WANDS SINCE 382 B.C. As they entered, a tinkling bell rang from the depths of the shop, which was a tiny place with only one chair, which Mr. Potter sat on to wait. The walls were stacked with thousands of boxes, neatly organized. Did these contain wands, or something else entirely? James could barely contain his excitement. Was he to finally receive his own wand, just like his parents and Dumbledore and the professors at Hogwarts?

“Mr. Potter,” said a voice close by his ear, and James jumped. An old man was standing before him, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons into the dusty old shop.

“Er, hello,” James said. “Are…are you Mr. Ollivander?”

“Ollivander!” Mr. Potter exclaimed, leaping from the chair as if from a nap. “How are you? I haven’t seen you since I received my own wand—and you were a younger man then, too!”

James fidgeted uncomfortably. He never liked it when his parents mentioned their ages; not that _he _minded, but everybody else teased him that his parents were old enough to be his grandparents.

“I was indeed,” Ollivander said. “You still have your wand, I take it? Acacia, ten-and-a-half inches, reasonably pliable? Suited to Potion-making, as I recall?”

“Yes, indeed!” Proudly, Mr. Potter drew forth his wand, which miraculously fit Ollivander’s definition. “Though I must say, this didn’t create the Sleekeazy Hair Potion so much as my own random creativity!”

Ollivander seemed to notice James gaping. “Yes, indeed, Mr. James Potter, I remember every wand I have ever sold in this shop. Your mother’s, for example, was made of hawthorn, twelve inches, sturdy; well suited to defending and protecting against the Dark Arts.” He began to walk round the shop, and James followed, struck by awe. “And your cousin, Alberta Pleamore, I was so sorry to hear that she had died last year…her wand was yew, nine-and-a-half inches, very pliable. I must have sold the wand that killed her, too, though it has not been discovered yet. I have my suspicions…but it would be dangerous to speak them.”

Mr. Ollivander had come very close to James, his unblinking eyes wide and knowing. James felt a little unsettled.

“And now, Mr. _James _Potter, let’s see about you. Which is your wand arm?”

“Er…this one.” James held out his right arm. Ollivander began to move about the room as a tape measure, moving of its own accord, measured James from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, round his head twice and even between his nostrils. James sneezed.

“Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter.” Ollivander began pulling boxes from shelves and examining them. “We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard’s wand.”

“Do you mean,” James said, “that wands are living things? They think for themselves?”

“Not the way that we do, no…but the wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter, not the other way round.” Ollivander gave a whistle, and the tape measure fell on the table. “Right, then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Maple and phoenix feather, seven inches. Quite whippy. Just take it and give it a whoosh.”

James took the wand and waved it about a bit, but nothing happened. Was that normal? He didn’t think so, but Mr. Ollivander didn’t look worried in the least as he handed James another wand.

“Acacia, twelve inches, sturdy; unicorn hair core. Try it.”

James lifted the wand, but before he had even flicked it, this one, too, was taken from him. He was beginning to feel a little frustrated. Did this usually happen?

“Here, perhaps this one…holly, eleven inches, phoenix feather core, nice and supple—“

But this one didn’t work either, and yet again Ollivander didn’t seem concerned. “I didn’t think so, it’s quite an unusual combination—“

James, feeling helpless, glanced at his father. Mr. Potter was asleep. He sighed.

Mr. Ollivander was searching again; the pile of boxes on his desk was beginning to grow. “Ahhh, perhaps, perhaps—stronger, more power, but still…” He opened another box—this must have been the fifteenth—and handed James another wand. “Mahogany, dragon heartstring core, eleven inches, pliable…useful for transfiguration.”

With a sigh, James took the wand; but strangely, this one was different, there was a warmth in his fingers. Feeling excited, he flicked it—and a stream of blue sparks shot out of the end, like the magic his mother did to change her hair. He felt a thrill run through him, and behind him, his father leapt out of the chair, laughing with delight and saying, over and over, “Marvelous, James, absolutely marvelous! It works!”

“So it does,” said Ollivander, “and I have no doubt that you will do great things with it.”

He wrapped the wand in brown paper before placing it in its box. James paid seven Galleons for it, out of his own money bag, and then he and his father left the shop. James was glad to be out of Ollivander’s wand shop; he didn’t say it, but something about Ollivander made him slightly uneasy, and it was more fun to be out in the bright bustle of Diagon Alley. But although his father praised him and praised it and Falco hooted excitedly, James couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed—this seemed to prove what he’d suspected in Flourish and Blotts with the pale-faced boy: that he was not nearly as good as his father, and the magic of potions did not hold a future for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, off to Hogwarts!


	5. Chapter Five: The Hogwarts Express

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Sirius board the Hogwarts Express and make new friends and enemies.

For the next three weeks, James divided his time between Falco Aesalon, his parents, and his school books. Really, all he _wanted _to do was start practicing magic, but now that he had his wand, he couldn´t do that; as his mother had carefully explained, practicing magic underage when you were aware that you were a wizard and were going to school for it was quite illegal.

He didn’t _really _want to read, either, but Pulfrey’s words kept coming back to him, about Muggleborns not being real wizards. James didn’t believe that at all, but what if it had something to do with what House you belonged to? If Muggleborns all went to Slytherin or Hufflepuff because they had no experience with the Wizarding World and hadn’t studied anything, what did that mean for James? What if you got into your House based on how much you knew, and all the experienced ones went to Gryffindor and Ravenclaw? James had a vague idea that he might be overreacting, but he simply didn’t know what the House Sorting process was like; and if there was one thing he knew for sure, it was that he was going to be in Gryffindor. His mother had been in Gryffindor, Dumbledore was in Gryffindor; and besides, every evil wizard in history, with the exception of Merlin, had come from Slytherin.

So James studied the books until his eyes felt raw and his head was ready to burst. In particular James studied the Potions book, since he didn’t know what his father would say if his son was less than amazing at the subject he had excelled at, and taught, no less, from the very book he had written. He didn’t know how much of the information he’d actually remember—it all seemed very thick stuff for first years—but even reading at all had to count for something, right?

But on top of James’ life now being centered around Hogwarts, there was another change: he had never felt less interested in racing his broomstick. He still loved to fly, and he was sure he’d get on the Quidditch team; but he was skilled enough to beat out every other first and second year who tried—maybe even the third years—so he had no need to practice. But besides that, Robin Pulfrey had become more annoying than ever, as he bragged to anyone who wanted to hear how he’d been accepted into Durmstrang, and had bought all his materials already, and was taking the first train out on the twenty-fifth of August. This alone made broomracing absolutely dreadful, particularly as James was sure he’d be singled out for sticking up for Muggleborns, and he most certainly did not want a repeat of the incident that had occurred the day before his shopping trip. However, there was one bright spot to the whole situation: come the twenty-fifth of August, and James wouldn’t have to see Robin Pulfrey’s smug face for almost a year.

James did experience a slight twinge of guilt when one night, while his mother was serving up dinner, she gave a small sob and offered him twice as much as usual. James realized, belatedly, that he might have been talking about Hogwarts a bit too much recently. His parents _were _going to miss him. Of course, it wasn’t like it was his fault; everyone went to Hogwarts! But James still thought he’d better spend as much time with his parents as he could. It was the least he could do. So he cleaned up with his mother, read books, and even suffered through the bloody potioneers one last time. Potions was one matter, and he was extraordinarily excited about it, but who cared what Hagworth Haystack—or whatever his name was—had done in the fifteenth century?

“Ah, James, you’ll have so much fun at Hogwarts!” Mr. Potter exclaimed at the end of the evening. “Especially with my book to learn from!”

The night of the thirty-first, a very predictable thing happened: James couldn’t bring himself to fall asleep. No matter how he tossed and turned, he could not stop thinking about Hogwarts, and Gryffindor, and magic, and Sirius Black and all the _other _friends he’d make at Hogwarts. The idea of getting into Slytherin crossed his mind once or twice, as did the possibility that he might not make the Quidditch team, but James didn’t really think either of those would happen. He was sure he would do splendidly, and make lots of friends, and become the most brilliant student in the school…if only he could fall asleep…

Naturally, as soon as he stopped thinking about it, James did fall asleep.

It seemed to James that he had hardly closed his eyes before it was the next morning, and his father was shaking him awake, and his mother was setting out clothes on the chair next to his bed.

“What’s the time?” James muttered. “I don’t even think the sun’s up yet!”

“Oh, James, we’d go by Floo Powder if we could,” Mrs. Potter said, looking slightly disgruntled, “but we take a train from the same station as all the Muggles—so that the Muggleborn students can find it easily, you see, it’s King’s Cross—which means we have to drive the car to London.”

“Never you worry, dear,” Mr. Potter said. “We’ll get there in a jiffy, it’s easier than Apparating!”

Mrs. Potter muttered something under her breath that James couldn’t quite hear, but he was sure it sounded something like, “that’s because _you’re _not the one driving, you nincompoop!” and decided not to laugh.

Once James had woken up a bit more, he couldn’t pack his suitcase fast enough. His mother insisted he finish his breakfast, but he was much too excited; he took his apple upstairs and ate it while shoving his books, clothes, and wand into the trunk. It didn’t seem as though it would all fit; why did he have to have such an old suitcase? He knew it had belonged to his father and his father, naturally, wanted him to use it as well; but everybody else—like Sirius, and that pale-faced boy who was such a git—was bound to have a brand-new trunk, at least twice as large as his, and maybe embellished with gold on the sides. But James never had to worry; after several frantic minutes of stuffing things in, and rearranging, and checking to make sure he had everything, he finally stood up, put on his robes, and joined his parents in the living room.

“I’m ready,” James said as his mother nervously searched for the car keys. “Can we go? Is the car ready? Will—will everything _fit _back there?”

“I’m sure it will, James, I am _quite _certain.” He tousled James’ hair, which only served to make it stick up more in the back. “Now, Euphemia—ah, here they are, you left them on the mantle.”

“Oh, thank goodness!” Mrs. Potter seized the keys from her husband, clutching them as if her life depended on them. “Now, James, let’s see—robes, trunk, books…wand?’

“Yes, Mum,” James said, wondering when they would leave.

“Spare robes?”

“Yes, Mum.”

“Cauldron?”

_“Yes, _Mum. Now can we—“

“You’re _sure _you have all your books? Your father went to all that trouble to—“

“YES!” James shouted. “Please, Mum—“

“All right, all right.” She smiled, but it was nervous; clearly she was still thinking about the car. “I think you’re set. But if we get to King’s Cross and I find out you’ve forgotten _one thing, _I will _not _be pleased with you, young man!”

James thought, and thought, and racked his brain, but although there was a persistent feeling that something was missing, he figured he was thinking about it too hard.

“I promise,” he said. “I didn’t forget anything.”

From somewhere in the vicinity of James’ room, there came a peculiar noise. “Hoooo!”

James froze.

“Tooo-hoo!”

“The owl!” James exclaimed, and running back upstairs, seized Falco Aesalon, put him in his cage, and lugged him back downstairs. 

“Very well,” Mrs. Potter said, hands on her hips. James didn’t look at his mother. “Let’s get going, we’ve spent enough time. The train leaves at eleven o’clock, and it’s half past seven!”

They got in the car, packed James’ things in very tightly, and took off.

It was the most nerve-wracking morning of James’ life. It didn’t take too long for them to get out of Godric’s Hollow, and his mother did well enough at that; but once they were on the freeway it became quite apparent that his parents drove the car no more than four times a year. She was so terrified that she refused to drive anywhere near the speed limit, and only when no less than fifteen cars had honked at them did she at last drive a little faster. Then there was the matter of getting into and around London itself. As much as Mr. Potter insisted she was driving perfectly well, there were several near misses where she swerved the car to avoid being hit, which took them into a ditch once and required very carefully hidden magic to get them out. From there, Mrs. Potter jumped at the slightest movement from other cars, took several wrong turns, almost drove in the wrong lane, stopped too soon, splattered another car with mud when she realized she was about to make another wrong turn and skidded across the road, and finally pulled up at King’s Cross with no more than fifteen minutes to spare.

All in all, James thought as his mother gasped for breath and his father wiped the steam off his glasses five times in a row, that was certainly the most fun he had ever spent with his aging parents.

“All right,” his father said excitedly, lifting James’ trunk onto a cart, “here’s your ticket. You go straight ahead there, make a turn, and you’ll see platforms nine and ten. From there—“

“Dad, that’s the fifteen hundredth time you’ve told me,” James said, rolling his eyes. “I know where to go. I won’t see the platform, that’s fine because it’s platform nine and three quarters, I’ll know where to go, there’ll be other wizarding families there, but I can’t just ask anyone because Muggles go here, too—“

“All right, all right. I suppose we’re coming with you anyway.”

James felt himself turn red. “Coming with me? Do—do you have to?”

“James, everyone else has their parents with them,” Mrs. Potter said, who had at last recovered from her near-death experience at the hands of the car. “And surely you want to tell us good-bye?”

“Of course, Mum,” said James, as the guilty sensation took him over once again. “Let’s go!”

At first James thought that he would take off at a run, shout a loud farewell to his parents, and tear onto the platform with the speed of a tiger. But then he saw that there were too many people walking around to do that; and secondly, he realized that he was expected to walk straight through a brick wall to get to platform nine and three quarters.

“Er,” he said uncertainly, turning to look at his parents. “Am I supposed to—to—to do—“

A girl with bright red hair walked through the wall without a sign of hesitation.

“Do that?” James finished.

“You might be a little happier to have us round now,” Mr. Potter laughed.

At that moment, the sallow-faced boy walked through the wall. James straightened up. How in Merlin’s name was he supposed to be in Gryffindor if he couldn’t walk through a stupid wall?

“Never mind, Dad,” James said, pushing his cart forward. The brick wall seemed to loom. It was so stupid, so incredibly stupid—why did he even care about it—of course he had to walk through a wall, wasn’t he training to be a wizard? James shut his eyes—

And he was through! He hadn’t crashed! With a grin, James opened his eyes. A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people, most of them dressed exactly like him. A sign overhead said, Hogwarts Express, eleven o’clock. He was here!

Grinning broadly, James looked round the station. It was full of swarming, bustling activity that filled his sense; parents who hustled their children down toward the engine, owls that hooted and toads that ribbited, friends who squealed in glee at seeing each other once again, the conductor shouting…it was everything he’d ever dreamed, and somehow more. And fortunately, he seemed to have lost sight of the unpleasant boy. _I bet he’s in Slytherin, _thought James, although he still couldn’t quite pinpoint just what he found so unpleasant about him.

As he waited for his parents, James found his attention drawn to a boy about his age who huddled close to his own parents, as if afraid to leave them. The boy was slightly taller than James, with sandy blond hair that fell in his face and odd, barely visible marks across his cheeks. He was speaking quietly to his parents, but James couldn’t quite hear what he was saying, only that he felt a little sorry for the boy. He edged closer—

“Oy! James Potter!”

James recognized the voice immediately and turned around, grinning, as Sirius Black waved at him. “Hey, Sirius!”

Sirius didn’t appear to be standing with his parents, so James ran over to join him, lugging Falco and his trunk. Sirius had no owl, but instead carried a tiny green snake, who curled curiously around his palms; and, as James had expected, his trunk was newer and embellished with a large, gold letter B.

“Noble and most ancient house of Black,” Sirius said, seeming to catch James looking at his trunk, “blah, blah. I don’t really know why my parents make such a fuss about it.” He leaned close to James. “Where’s your broomstick?”

“Can’t bring it out yet,” James whispered back, “Dad made me promise. Why are we whispering?”

“Oh.” Sirius laughed. “I s’pose we don’t have to. I just figured…you know, if you’ve got a Cleansweep, some people might want to steal it. I dunno.”

“I don’t think they’d steal it—Dad was worried I’d destroy half the train with it.”

Sirius grinned.

“Oh, James!” Mrs. Potter exclaimed, coming to stand beside her son; Mr. Potter was right on her heels, and his suit was now a mysterious shade of lilac. Potions experimenting, probably; James didn’t ask. “Seems you’ve made a friend already—how _wonderful!_”

“Well, it was sort of a coincidence, but that’s a long story. This is Sirius Black.”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Potter,” Sirius said, in a voice that sounded much too polite for him.

“And you as well! It doesn’t surprise me, though, I just _knew _James would make friends!” She smiled and squeezed James’ shoulder. James noticed that there were tears in her eyes, and he sighed to himself.

“I know, you’ll miss me,” he said.

“Of course I will, but I—I—oh, James!” Suddenly, she pulled him into a very tight hug and pulled back just as quickly. “I’m so proud of you! You’re our only son, you know, and now you’re off to Hogwarts! You’ll be so wonderful—you’ll do even better than we did!”

“Oh, well, I’m not so sure about that,” James said hastily, though there was a warm feeling inside him at his mother’s praise. He noticed that, once again, Sirius had a queer look on his face, almost as if he were jealous. James couldn’t see why; someone as rich as Sirius was had to be at least twice as pampered.

“Sirius, there you are.”

A tall, forbidding woman had just approached them. She was dressed all in black, her hair was done up in a perfect bun, and her pale, bony hands had rings on several of their fingers. One of these hands was laid on Sirius’ shoulder. James felt instantly that he did not like her.

“Hello, Mother,” Sirius said quietly. In a moment, his entire attitude seemed to have changed; he wasn’t smiling, the rebellious twinkle had gone out of his eyes, and he almost seemed to have shrunk, just a little, in size. _This _was his mother? James couldn’t believe it. Maybe Sirius had been adopted.

But his eyes were the same color as hers…

“Are you prepared?”she asked in a low voice. “I don’t want you running about before you leave, Sirius. You might forget something—or worse, forget to board the train.”

“No, Mother,” he said in the same quiet voice. “I won’t forget, I promise.”

“Of course you won’t—you’re my son.” Mrs. Black looked up then, as if noticing the Potters for the first time, and nodded coldly. “Fleamont. Euphemia.”

“Walburga,” Mrs. Potter said in the same cold voice. Mr. Potter did not say a word.

“And you—“ Mrs. Black turned her steel gaze, finally, on James. He resisted a shiver. “You must be their son, James.”

“Yes, ma’am,” James said. He had never used the word “ma’am” before, but could not have imagined addressing her with anything else.

“You’ve made the acquaintance of Sirius?”

“Yes, ma’am.” James was seized by a sudden, rebellious urge to grin at Sirius, but had no idea where it had come from.

“Then I hope you will be good friends. He needs them, after all.” These words were almost exactly the same ones that James’ own mother had spoken seconds ago, but somehow they did not seem to have the same meaning. Mrs. Black’s words appeared almost like a threat, as if she were telling James, _You’d better be the kind of friend I want you to be, or else. _James didn’t know exactly what kind of friend Sirius’ mother would want him to be, but it couldn’t be anything good.

“I’ll see you at Christmas, Sirius,” Mrs. Black said. “Make sure you behave yourself.”

“Yes, Mother,” Sirius said, in the same solemn tone of voice. “See you.”

Mrs. Black eyed the Potters suspiciously, squeezed James’ shoulder tightly—although this did not seem affectionate, but rather another kind of threat—and finally turned her back and walked away.

There was a long, rather awkward silence.

“Well, then!” Mr. Potter exclaimed, a bit too enthusiastically. “Let’s get you boys on the train!”

James and Sirius shared identical grins.

“Yes, sir!”

It had taken James and Sirius several minutes to find a good compartment. The first few carriages were already full, packed with students who had arrived earlier; others were half full, but contained older students who seemed a little put off at the thought of sitting with first years. Not that James minded, of course…he didn’t want to sit with older students either, despite the fact that within the week, he’d be playing with several of them as a member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team…

_If you get into Gryffindor, that is, _a nasty voice in his mind told him.

_Oh, shut up, _James told it, just as nastily.

At last they had found the compartment, near the back of the train. It was small, but looked comfortable; there were two seats, and the boys sat across from each other. Bringing in their equipment was another matter entirely; it took several minutes of shoving, groaning, yanking, and a lot of help from Mr. and Mrs. Potter until the snake, the owl, the boys, and both trunks were comfortable.

“Well,” Mr. Potter said, rather uncomfortably, “I suppose this is it, then.”

James had to admit that he felt sad at the idea of not seeing his lively father or spirited mother for four whole months, but then he looked at Sirius, who would certainly not be feeling that kind of sadness.

“Guess it is,” he said with a grin, and his mother began to cry. “Oh, Mum, don’t worry! I’ll be back before you know it.”

“I…I _know,_” she sobbed. “And I’m so happy for you…you will behave yourself, won’t you?”

“Course I will,” James said, “at least I’ll try.”

“That’s perfectly all right,” Mrs. Potter said with a smile, “it’s the best you can do. I’ll—I’ll—“

“We’ll see you at Christmas,” Mr. Potter said, tousling James’ hair, as his wife dissolved into tears once again, “have fun, James!” He winked at Sirius. “And you, too!”

For once, Sirius looked happy at being addressed by the Potters. “I will, Mr. Potter!”

“Good-bye!” Mr. Potter called, as if the four of them were the only people that existed on the train, and as if hundreds of other young wizards and witches were not looking oddly at them. “Good-bye, have fun!”

The “good-byes” and “behave yourselves” and “have funs” were repeated endlessly, each one a little farther away, as Mr. and Mrs. Potter gradually left the train and were at last waving frantically outside the train.

Sirius grinned. “I like your parents, James.”

“They’re a little overwhelming, sometimes,” James admitted. “But, yeah, they’re fun.”

Just as the last students boarded the train, a girl’s voice was heard outside, asking, “Are there any free compartments? Does anybody have room? Sorry, we weren’t looking at the time—“

“Oh, don’t,” Sirius said as James started to get up. “Somebody else will let her in.”

“But what if they don’t?” James got up and opened the door. Outside stood the red-haired girl he’d seen outside the platform; she had green eyes and a thin nose, and she smiled.

“There’s room in here,” he said. “It’s just us two.”

“Oh, good,” she said, and from within the compartment, Sirius waved. She turned to a boy behind her, who—

Oh, no. James restrained a groan. It was the boy from the Apothecary! Even as he looked, the boy raised his chin arrogantly. James felt an intense desire to say he’d made a mistake, there wasn’t room at all, that there was actually a horde of invisible elephant in the compartment and no one else could sit there, sorry. But he couldn’t back out now.

The girl looked at the boy, who must have been her friend. “Severus, this one’s open.”

Severus scowled; it made him look even less friendly. “Are you sure?”

“Positive—we’ve checked everywhere else. Come on.”

A whistle sounded.

“All right, we’d better,” Severus said, looking anywhere but at James.

James stepped back into the compartment, motioning for Sirius to move to James’ side. Severus and the girl entered after him, taking the opposite seat, just before steam puffed and the engine began to move.

There was a long silence before James at last realized he should say something.

“Er, I’m James,” he said. “James Potter.”

“Potter?” The girl frowned. “I think I’ve heard that name before. Are you famous?”

She had a frank, honest way of talking, as if she were not afraid of anything. James liked that. On the other hand, he could see Severus Whatever-His-Name-Was watching him keenly, and James knew instantly that he could not admit that his father was famous for a hair potion that had once been popular among bushy-haired teenage girls in the late 1920s.

“No,” he said quickly. “I don’t think so. What’s your name?”

“Lily Evans,” the girl said, “and don’t ask if you’ve heard of me, I’m Muggleborn.”

“Lily, you don’t just admit that to people,” Severus hissed, sounding almost afraid for her.

“Oh, don’t worry,” James said coolly. “I know what people say, but _we’re _fine with Muggles.” He could see Sirius looking at him with an odd expression on his face, but James figured he’d ask later.

“Whatever you say,” Severus said with a shrug. “I’m Severus Snape.” He looked sharply at Sirius. “And who are you?”

“Black,” Sirius said. “Sirius Black.”

The train continued to move, and Severus Snape got up. “I’m going to see where the food cart is,” he told her, as if James and Sirius were completely deaf and couldn’t hear a word he was saying. “Want to come?”

“No, thanks,” Lily said. “I’ll just wait here.”

After Snape had gone, they sat in uncomfortable silence.

“So, er, Muggleborn, huh?” James said, wanting to get to know Lily a bit better; she didn’t seem like the type who should be hanging around someone as Snape. “What’s it like? Being—living with Muggles, I mean?’

“Not very different from the way wizards live, at least according to what Severus’s told me.” Lily frowned at him. “I thought you said you liked Muggles!”

“I do,” James said hastily, wondering what he’d said wrong. “What made you think I—“

“Oh, nothing.” Surprisingly, James realized that Lily’s eyes seemed a little moist. “But it’s not as if we’re a different _species, _I mean, we look the same, and I bet I can do magic just as well as you!”

“I never said you couldn’t!” said James, panicked. He looked at Sirius helplessly, but Sirius was fiddling with his wand. “Listen, I just don’t know much about Muggles, I was curious—“

“Well, you’re a wizard, someone should’ve told you.” James opened his mouth to retort, but a second later, Lily’s face crumpled as if she were about to cry. “I’m—I’m sorry, it’s just that some…some people I know didn’t think I’d be a very good witch, they said I’m too nice and obedient and nobody would like me. Of course, Severus likes me; but nobody seems to like him very much either.”

She looked pointedly at both boys.

“Well,” James said after a rather awkward silence, “I like you. You seem as normal as any other kid. Sorry if I insulted you, I was just curious—“

“It’s all right.” Lily curled up near the window and looked out at the passing trees.

Sirius nudged James. “I think she wants to be alone for a while.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” James turned to face Sirius. “Hey, why d’you have a snake?”

“Oh, this? She’s in the family.” Sirius pulled the snake out of his pocket. “She’s named after a star, like me—her name’s Lyra. Normally, they won’t let us bring snakes, but Dumbledore made an exception since my family’s so well known.” Sirius held out the snake. “Want to hold her? She won’t bite.”

“Sure.” James was a bit worried, but Lyra didn’t bite him. Instead, she wriggled around, all over his hands, trying to escape onto his clothes several times. After a few seconds, Sirius took her back.

“What about you?”asked Sirius, stroking Lyra’s head. “What sort of animal did you bring?”

“Oh, just an owl.” James lifted the cage down from on top of his trunk. “The only thing special about him is his name, Falco Aesalon; he was a wizard who could turn into a bird.”

“Falco Aesalon?” Sirius laughed. “Wow, that’s a mouthful.”

“I know. That’s why he’s Falco for short.”

“Imagine calling him by his full name, though—every time you had to deliver a message: ‘Here, Falco Aesalon! Falco Aesalon, bring this to my parents!’” Sirius made a mock angry face. “‘Falco Aesalon, you terrible, bad bird!’”

James and Sirius broke into laughs as the unfortunate owl hooted curiously, looking between them. That was the moment that Snape chose to reenter the compartment, but he didn’t speak to James or Sirius; instead, he sat by Lily and started talking to her quietly. Despite James’ dislike for Snape, he had to admit that when he was with Lily, he was much more polite than he, James, had been. Maybe, James thought, he’d judged Severus Snape too harshly; if they were all in Gryffindor, he’d try again, and maybe they’d be better friends. Maybe there was a different, nicer side to Snape…if one only looked hard enough…

“We’re off to Hogwarts,” Snape said, as if trying to cheer her up. “You’d better be in Slytherin.”

“Slytherin?” James echoed. He looked round at Sirius. “Who wants to be in Slytherin? I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?”

But this time, Sirius didn’t smile. “My whole family have been in Slytherin.”

Well, that explained his mother, and the way he seemed to gravitate toward the Potters and their welcoming, friendly environment. All James’ good feelings toward Snape melted away. So that’s why he’d been so unpleasant, he wanted to be in Slytherin!

“Blimey,” said James, trying to cheer Sirius up, “and I thought you seemed all right!”

Sirius grinned. “Maybe I’ll break the tradition.” James grinned with him. “Where are you going, if you’ve got the choice?”

This was his chance. Looking at Lily, James raised an invisible sword. “‘Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart!’ Like my dad.”

Snape made a small, disparaging noise, as if he doubted James. Had Snape seen him hesitate in front of the platform? James turned on him, angry. “Got a problem with that?”

“No,” said Snape, an unpleasant sneer lurking on his face. “If you’d rather be brawny than brainy—“

“Where’re you hoping to go, seeing as you’re neither?” interjected Sirius.

James laughed. Lily sat up, looking no longer sad but flushed, and glanced between James and Sirius in dislike.

“Come on, Severus, let’s find another compartment.” Her red hair swished as she turned, and Snape followed her, shooting James a glare.

“‘Oooo, Severus, let’s find another compartment,’” said Sirius in a horrible imitation of her voice. James laughed with him, feeling nothing but dislike for both Severus Snape and Lily Evans. 

“Well, they’re a load of fun, aren’t they?”said James once they were gone.

“Oh, yeah—completely.” Sirius sniggered. “Was your dad really in Gryffindor?”

“Yeah. Mum’s Hufflepuff, though, so I don’t know where I’ll be.”

“You’ll be in Gryffindor. Listen, James, did you or did you not crash your broomstick into your neighbor’s house?”

“I did,” admitted James with a grin.

“How could a Hufflepuff do that?” Sirius moved back across to the other seat. “You’re the Gryffindoriest Gryffindor who ever lived!”

“I don’t think that’s a word, Sirius—“

“Is too.”

“Anyway,” said James, resisting the urge to laugh again, “what about you? You really think you’ll have any sort of shot at getting into Slytherin?”

“Well…” Sirius sighed. “Not really. I don’t feel particularly ambitious about anything, I’m never just out for myself…maybe I say meaner things than I ought to, but I’d really like to be in Gryffindor. The thing is…” He lowered his voice. “I dunno what my parents would say if I’m not in Slytherin.”

James frowned. “What d’you mean?”

“Well, I told you everyone in my family’s been in Slytherin, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And that’s not just my parents—it’s my grandparents, and _their _parents, and my aunts and uncles, and my cousins…and my little brother Regulus is probably going to be a Slytherin, too, when he comes next year.” Sirius snorted derisively. “He’s already a perfect little Black—praises the Dark Arts, hates Muggles, paints his room green and silver—my parents love him.”

“Dark Arts? Hates Muggles?” James echoed in disbelief. “Your family really supports all that stuff?”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, we don’t talk about it—it’s not allowed in the Wizarding World—but my dad fought at Grindelwald’s side during the war.”

James’ eyes widened. “You’re joking.”

“No, I’m Sirius,” said Sirius, completely straight-faced, before both he and James collapsed into giggles.

“Well, if you can joke about it, it can’t be that bad,” James said.

“That’s how I forget about it—I laugh. Maybe I’ll forget all of it while we’re at Hogwarts.”

“Yeah,” James laughed. “You get back, and you won’t even remember that your parents are criminals.”

Sirius grinned and pressed his face to the window. “Look at that, James, we’re leaving London!”

James looked. Sure enough, the train was beginning to leave dirty, grey old London. Now they were speeding past fields full of some of those Muggle animals, cows and sheep. The boys were quiet for a while, watching the fields and lanes drift past. Then there came a clattering noise outside their corridor, and Sirius sat up straight.

“Must be the cart! Wait til you see what they’ve got—“

“I _know _what they’ve got, I’m a wizard too—“

A smiling, dimpled woman appeared next to the compartment, and James opened the door. “Anything from the cart, dears?”

Both James and Sirius were at the door almost before she’d finished speaking. Sirius seized about as much as he could carry, an armload of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, Chocolate Frogs, Cauldron Cakes, and more. James was about to grab as much when he remembered how his father had saved up money since he was born to put into that tiny vault, and that they wanted him to have a good time at Hogwarts, and how since his parents were older they didn’t have as much money…so he contented himself with a few Chocolate Frogs and a Licorice Wand.

Sirius glanced at James. “Is that it? Listen, James, I can pay for us both.”

“No, don’t,” James said quickly, “I’ve got money, you don’t—“

“But James, I’m richer than you are—“ Sirius turned red. “Er, well, I didn’t mean exactly that, but—“

“No, Sirius, it’s okay, I’ll just—“

“James, I _want _to pay for you,” Sirius said, and there was something desperate in his eyes. James realized that Sirius must feel grateful for James and his parents, that they had given him the attention his own parents had not…he probably wanted to do something for James in return.

“Okay,” James said, taking several more candies and stepping back into the compartment while Sirius paid from a bag at least twice the size of James’. At last they sat back down and were happily silent, feasting on the glory of their candy.

“Hey,” said James, opening up his Chocolate Frog, “I’ve got—I’ve got Nibley! He’s a friend of my parents.”

“Blimey!” Sirius looked at the card, turning over the card several times. “He was supposed to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts—taught it for five years.”

“Yeah, I know. Do you know who’s replacing him?”

“You don’t?” Sirius looked surprised. “Yeah, it’s a bloke named Augustus Rookwood…my parents mentioned him once.”

“Your parents? Do they know him, then?” James sincerely hoped not. Any professor who was known by Sirius’ Dark Arts-loving, Muggle-hating parents couldn’t be anything good.

“No.” Sirius laughed. “They didn’t seem to like him very much at all; they were muttering and whispering about Dumbledore’s methods all night.”

“That’s a relief. Is he any good?”

“I dunno, guess we’ll find out.”

There was a knock on the door of the compartment, and James saw the mousy-faced boy from the platform, standing a bit rigidly, as if he were afraid.

“You can come in, you know,” James said; and hesitantly, the boy opened the door, though he didn’t come into the compartment.

“Sorry to bother you,” he said, and he sounded quiet and soft-spoken, as if he had taken a lot of time and consideration into his words. “But has anyone seen my owl? I usually don’t lose animals…”

“No, it’s all right,” Sirius said.

“Yeah, we haven’t seen an owl,” said James, “but we can help you look—“

“No, that’s all right.” The boy started to back away. “If you haven’t seen him, then he won’t be around here—“

“What’s your name, anyway?” James asked, and he introduced himself and Sirius. With a quick glance at the window, he could tell that they must be getting closer to Hogwarts; the countryside was getting wilder, and now there woods, twisting rivers, and dark green hills.

The boy hesitated for a second, but he must have decided James and Sirius were all right. “Remus Lupin. If you want to know, I think we’re almost there.”

Sirius frowned. “Why, have you asked?”

“No, but other people have. Well, I’d better go—maybe my owl’s around here, somewhere. Thanks, though.” With the same careful attitude, Remus closed the door and was gone.

Sirius glanced at James. “Well, that was weird. Do you think there’s something wrong with him?”

“Not wrong, but maybe a little suspicious. I dunno, he seemed nice enough.” Putting Remus Lupin out of his head, James leaned forward. “Who’d you get on your Chocolate Frogs? You must’ve gotten at least a dozen—“

“Yeah, but some of them I already have.” Sirius reopened one of the frogs. “There’s your dad, for starters—“

“He’s on a Chocolate Frog card? No way!”

After comparing Frog cards for a long time, a voice echoed through the train: “We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.”

James looked at Sirius excitedly, and Sirius grinned back. This was it, then, Hogwarts—and what made it even more exciting was that James already had a friend with him. To think, four weeks ago he’d been worried about having friends at all!

The train slowed down and finally stopped. People pushed their way toward the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform. James shivered; the air was cold. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and a voice addressed them: “First years, please follow me!”

“That’s Professor Grubbly-Plank,” Sirius whispered, “caretaker of the grounds.”

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Professor Grubbly-Plank, who spoke in a stuffy, arrogant sort of way, down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that James thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much. A small, round-faced boy behind James kept sniffing nervously.

“You will see Hogwarts soon,” Grubbly-Plank announced, “just around this bend.”

There was a loud “Oooooh!”

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake, so still that James thought it must be made of glass. But in the moment, James hardly noticed it. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side of the lake, tall and stately and haunting, welcoming lights shining out of the windows, was a vast castle with dozens of turrets and towers. It seemed to stand over them tall and protective, like a great last shield on the edge of darkness.

Hogwarts.

James grinned at Sirius. They were here at last.


	6. Chapter Six: The Sorting Ceremony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sorting takes place; James and Sirius try to connect with Remus.

Once the first year students had recovered from their initial shock of seeing the castle, Grubbly-Plank led them on, waving a pale hand to motion them forward. “Follow me, first years! Quickly now, quickly! Into the boats, and be cautious—very cautious. No more than four in one boat!”

“She sounds old,” whispered Sirius to James. James nodded in agreement. Grubbly-Plank’s voice was not easily heard, and sounded very hoarse and tired. How long had the professor done this, he wondered? She’d need a replacement before long.

Together, James and Sirius climbed into a boat. No one else joined them. Maybe there wouldn’t be enough students, James thought, and he and Sirius would get this one all to themselves—but he was soon disappointed. As the boats were nearly full, the Remus boy climbed into theirs, followed by a short blond boy. James didn’t say anything; Remus was a little odd, and he didn’t even speak to the boy he’d brought with him.

“Everyone in?” Grubbly-Plank wheezed, who sat in a boat close to theirs. “Forward!”

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding smoothly across the lake. Everyone was silent, even Lily Evans, staring up at the great castle overhead. It was even more impressive up close. It towered over them as they sailed nearer the cliff on which it stood.

Grubbly-Plank had said something; James and Sirius leaned forward.

“What was that?” Sirius muttered. “Old hag.”

“Heads down,” Remus said quietly, “and don’t call her a hag, she’s only doing her job.”

James glanced sideways at Sirius, but they lowered their heads with the rest of the students as the first boat reached the cliff; the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that had a wide opening in the cliff face. They sailed along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

Once everyone was on shore, they climbed up a passageway in the rock after Grubbly-Plank’s lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle. They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.

James caught his breath. Sirius grinned at him.

"Is everyone here?” Grubbly-Plank looked round. “Good.” She raised a fist and knocked three times on the castle door.

The door swung open at once. An older wizard in robes of velvet stood there. He had balding hair and looked as if he could be James’ parents’ age. He smiled kindly at them as Grubbly-Plank declared, quite pompously, “Professor Slughorn, the first years have arrived.”

"I see, Wilhelmina,” Slughorn said. “I’ll take them from here.”

He pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big James imagined his entire house would fit in it; big enough that as many as fifteen students could walk abreast. The stone walls were lit, he noticed, with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors. The staircase was so beautiful, so perfect, and wound around and around so many times that James imagined it would make a splendid test course for a broomstick.

“Oy, James,” Sirius whispered, “you should test your broomstick on that.”

James looked at Sirius in wonder. 

“I just thought the same thing!” he whispered back excitedly.

As they followed Professor Slughorn across the stone floor, James thought he could hear voices echoing down from some other doorway—the rest of the students must have arrived—but Slughorn didn’t bring them that way. Instead, he led them into a small, empty chamber that just barely fit all the first years.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” Slughorn said when they were all present and listening. “Soon you may go in to the start-of-term banquet, but there are a few things I would like to say first. Before you take your seats with the rest of the students, you will be sorted into your Houses: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and...” Slughorn seemed to puff out his chest a little more. “And my House, Slytherin.”

“Of course, he thinks his own House is the best,” Sirius muttered, and received a sharp nudge between the shoulders from Remus for his trouble.

James glared at Remus, but before he could say anything, Slughorn looked pointedly at both James and Sirius.

“Sorry, sir,” James said. Several people snickered, the loudest of them Snape.

“That’s exactly the kind of people who’re in Gryffindor,” the sallow-faced boy whispered to Lily, only just loud enough for James and Sirius to hear him.

“It’s perfectly all right, I know we’re a little excited.” Slughorn smiled. “Now, this Sorting ceremony is exceedingly important! For the entirety of your time at Hogwarts, it will become your family. You’ll have classes with the rest of your House, sleep with your House in special dormitories, and other such things. Furthermore,” he went on, loudly, as some had begun to talk excitedly, “each House has its own wonderful history and _each one_ has produced outstanding wizards.” He gazed round at each of the first years, in particular Snape, then proceeded amicably. “While you are at Hogwarts, you can earn House points by succeeding and behaving yourselves, and lose House points by breaking rules.”

This time he looked directly at James and Sirius. James blushed red. He hoped these rules weren’t too difficult to follow; what if it was strict here? What if his parents received letters from Dumbledore every day? It was hard to stomach the thought. He’d just have to do his best to obey the rules.

“But I know each of you will be a credit to whichever House is yours.” Slughorn leaned in conspiratorially. “The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes. I suggest you all take some time to smarten yourselves up as much as you can!”

“That means you,” Sirius muttered to James.

“My hair never lies flat,” James shot back.

“I will return when we are ready for you,” said Professor Slughorn. “Please wait _quietly._”

He left the chamber.

“Oh, this’ll be easy,” James said, refusing to think about what would happen if he didn’t get put into Gryffindor. “They just put a hat on our heads, right?”

Sirius nodded. “Right.”

“A hat?” A small, timid voice sounded from behind them. “But doesn’t it ask you questions?”

Both James and Sirius turned around. It was the small, mousy-haired boy who’d come with Remus. Remus wasn’t talking to him, though.

“Questions?” James looked at Sirius nervously. “What d’you mean, questions?”

“Well, how else would they know where to put you?” The boy tugged at his shirt, which looked too small for him. “I bet I’m in Hufflepuff. That’s where all the losers go.”

“I dunno,” James said, “you might be okay.” He introduced himself and Sirius. “What’s your name?”

“Peter,” the boy said with a shy smile. “Peter Pettigrew.”

“Peter Pettigrew,” Sirius repeated dramatically. “_Peter Pettigrew. _Got a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

James laughed. Peter gave a little chuckle.

“Shut it!” Remus hissed. “The ceremony’s about to start!”

Why did he have to ruin everything? James rounded on him savagely. “Well, if you know so much—“

But at that moment Professor Slughorn returned. The boys stepped apart.

“Form a line, please,” said Slughorn, “and follow me.”

Shaking his head at Remus, James got into line behind a tall black boy, Sirius behind him, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

James wasn’t the only student who gasped. The Great Hall was the most splendid place he’d ever seen! It was lit by thousands upon thousands of candles that floated in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting, and which were laid full of glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor Slughorn led the students up here, so they stood facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. James felt like his legs had turned to lead. There had to be _hundreds _of students, maybe more, all older than him, and all staring at him and the other students. To look away from all those piercing eyes, James looked up at the ceiling, which was dotted with stars.

“I wonder,” Sirius whispered, “is that a real sky, or is that bewitched?”

But James had no time to answer, because then Professor Slughorn placed a four-legged stool in front of the line of first years, and he and Sirius hastily looked back down. On top of the stool was placed a hat, which was patched and looked extremely dirty. What was it supposed to do? Talk to them? But if it talked, did it have a mouth? James had to repress the urge to giggle at the thought; that might not be the most appropriate thing to do.

For a few seconds, the hat did absolutely nothing, and neither did anyone else. Everyone, even the teachers, was staring at the hat. Then, finally, the hat twitched. As if to answer James’ question, a rip near the brim opened like a mouth--and the hat began to sing.

_ “So, you have come from far and wide,_

_ To study spells and wizardry, _

_ And you may be disappointed_

_ To see a hat like me. _

_ But don’t judge on what you see,_

_ I’m more than meets the eye,_

_ For I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat _

_ There is no better hat than I!_

_ There’s nothing hidden in your head_

_ The Sorting Hat can’t see, _

_ So try me on and I will tell you_

_ Where you ought to be. _

_ You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_ Where dwell the brave at heart, _

_ Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_

_ Set Gryffindors apart;_

_ You might belong in Hufflepuff, _

_ Where they are just and loyal,_

_ Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

_ And unafraid of toil;_

_ Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_ If you’ve a ready mind, _

_ Where those of wit and learning, _

_ Will always find their kind;_

_ Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_ You’ll make your real friends, _

_ Those cunning folk use any means_

_ To achieve their ends. _

_ So put me on! Don’t be afraid! _

_ And don’t get in a flap!_

_ You’re in safe hands (though I have none)_

_ For I’m a Thinking Cap!”_

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became still again. So they just had to try on the hat; that didn’t seem too terrible. The second he climbed onto the stool, the hat would know.

He grinned at Sirius. “Not too bad, huh?”

Sirius didn’t look quite so confident. “I dunno. I could still be in Slytherin...”

“Don’t worry, you won’t be. You’ll be in Gryffindor.”

“Easy for you to say, your name’s in the middle of the alphabet.”

Professor Slughorn stepped forward, holding a long roll of parchment. As easy as he knew this would be, James had to admit he felt a little nervous knowing they’d be sorted now.

“When I call your name,” said Slughorn, “you should put on the hat and sit on the stool. Aubrey, Bertram!”

A smallish boy with bright blond hair scampered forward, sat down on the stool, and put on the hat, which was so big it fell forward over his eyes. There was a pause, everyone caught their breath, and then—

“RAVENCLAW!”

James jumped; he hadn’t expected the hat to be so _loud. _The table second from the left clapped and cheered as Bertram sat down with the Ravenclaws, who, James noticed, were all wearing similar colors, blue and silver.

“Avery, Oswin!”

“SLYTHERIN!” Avery scampered off to the table on the far right.

Several more names were called. The B’s were approaching, and Sirius gave James a worried look. To reassure him, James grinned. Why couldn’t _he _try on the hat so early?

“Black, Sirius!”

Now there was a bit more of a buzz; several people seemed to know who the Blacks were. One older girl in particular, from the table on the far right, leaned forward. That must be Slytherin’s, James thought with distaste, she was a Slytherin, and they were all waiting for Sirius to be sorted into Slytherin. James felt a pang of worry. What if Sirius _was _sorted into Slytherin? Would he even like James anymore?

But the hat had hardly touched Sirius’ head when it screamed, “GRYFFINDOR!”

There was a groan from the Slytherins, and a roaring cheer from the Gryffindors as Sirius, looking rather dazed, got up and wobbled over to the table on the far left. Not only was he a Black, but he was also the first Gryffindor of the day, James realized.

“Brocklehurst, Andy!”

Sirius had sat down with the Gryffindors. He caught James’ eye, looking strangely worried, and James gave him a thumbs up. But not even that could cheer him up; Sirius looked away. James sighed. He’d talk to Sirius in a few minutes anyway.

“Carrow, Alecto!”

“SLYTHERIN!”

Alecto Carrow, a thin, mean-looking girl, sauntered over to join the Slytherins. Several seconds later, she was joined by her brother Amycus.

“You’ll be in Slytherin, you’ll be in Slytherin,” a voice muttered behind James; surprised, James realized it was Snape. For some reason, he sounded as anxious as Sirius looked. He must be talking to Lily Evans, and James suddenly felt a keen desire for Lily to be a Gryffindor. Maybe she didn’t like him, or Sirius, but she looked rather nice and well brought up, and if he could only get her away from Snape—

“Evans, Lily!”

The red-haired Muggle-born walked quietly forward, sat on the stool, and put on the hat. James caught his breath. The hat waited, a little longer than it had done for Sirius, but not seriously long, and then—

“GRYFFINDOR!”

Snape let out a groan. Satisfied, James turned back to face the hat with a small, tiny smile. Lily had sat down next to Sirius, but she wasn’t looking at him.

“Fletcher, David!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

James started to wish his father had had a different name. Why did he have to wait so long to find out which House was his? It didn’t seem fair, and he was starting to get a little worried. Sirius had thought he’d be in Slytherin, and so had Lily; they had both gone to Gryffindor. What if _James _was in Slytherin? He’d be stuck with Snape!

A worse thought struck him. What if he was in Hufflepuff? He’d never get anywhere!

_No, _James told himself firmly. _I’m a Gryffindor. I’m going to be in Gryffindor. I crashed my broom through a window! What’s more Gryffindor than that?_

But he had been afraid to race...had been afraid to walk through Platform Nine-And-Three-Quarters, had been afraid of going into Gringotts...

No. He _would _be in Gryffindor. James was determined.

“Heckberth, Anna!”

“RAVENCLAW!”

Someone poked him in the back. James spun around to see Snape glaring at him.

“What?”he snapped.

“You git,” Snape hissed, “you _like _that she got into Gryffindor, don’t you?”

“I really couldn’t care less,” James said coolly. “She’s your friend, not mine.”

“Lupin, Remus!”

The prickly bookish boy walked quietly to the stool, shoulders hunched over as if that would keep everyone from looking at him. James felt just the teensiest bit sorry for him, but reckoned he’d feel sorrier if Lupin was a bit nicer. The hat took a little longer than usual, but eventually, almost reluctantly, it shouted out, “GRYFFINDOR!”

“MacDonald, Mary” was next—she went to Hufflepuff—followed by “Mulciber, Beldon,” whose admission to Slytherin seemed to make Snape happy. That couldn’t mean anything good, James thought sourly; he had begun to stare at the hat longingly, waiting until he could hear it scream “GRYFFINDOR” into the hall.

“Oh, oh, no,” came the small, timid voice of Peter Pettigrew. “It’s almost time.”

“Oh, my,” drawled Snape sarcastically. “You can’t possibly be frightened of a _hat, _can you? Such a dirty, dusty old one, too—“

“You know what?” James snarled, rounding on Snape. It was enough for him to snap at James and Sirius for arguing with him, but he couldn’t stand to watch him insult a boy who was already scared. “No one wants to hear what you have to say anyway.”

“Pettigrew, Peter!”

Little Peter gave James a look of new admiration before walking up to the stool and putting on the hat. James watched proudly, waiting for the hat to shout out “Gryffindor!” in a matter of seconds...but instead the hat took its time. It continued to sit there, on poor Peter Pettigrew’s head, as some of the Slytherins jeered and Remus watched anxiously. James frowned. Would that happen to _him? _Could the hat possibly be thinking about putting Peter in Hufflepuff? If it took much longer...

“GRYFFINDOR!”

The entire room seemed to have released a sigh. Head down, Peter got off the stool and trudged over to the Gryffindor table. James felt the pang of worry grow a little. It was almost his turn. He was so sure he’d get into Gryffindor, everybody had told him he’d get into Gryffindor...but what if he didn’t? What if he had to leave Sirius alone, and eventually Sirius didn’t like him? What if his father was disappointed? Somehow, that thought was the worst of all...

“Potter, James!”

The students in the room hadn’t leaned forward, the way they had for Sirius. So they thought he was nothing special, did they? James decided, at that moment, that he would become a Gryffindor, and that he would be famous at Hogwarts. He’d be one of the best students who’d ever lived...

The hat came down farther than James had thought, over his glasses and onto his nose. Soon he was staring at the black inside of the hat.

“Well, well,” said a small voice in James’ ear, and he almost jumped. “You think you’re so sure of yourself, do you? So sure you’ve got what it takes to be a Gryffindor?”

James’ worst fears were realized. _Yes, _he thought desperately, _yes, I do._

“Do you, hmm? I do see plenty of courage, almost too much...but there’s intelligence as well, a tendency to think outside the box, do unconventional things. There’s goodness, yourself, but—my, my, you _do _want to prove yourself, don’t you? Got a talent for mischief-making, I see! Why are you so sure I won’t put you in Ravenclaw? Or Slytherin, for that matter?”

James could almost see Snape grinning at him. _Not Slytherin. I won’t do well in Slytherin._

“Are you sure?”the hat drawled. “All this desire for greatness, you’d excel there—but since you’ve asked, I’m sure it’s GRYFFINDOR!”

The hat shouted the last word out loud to the whole hall. He’d done it, he’d really done it; he was in Gryffindor, he’d be with Sirius and all his dad’s friends! Grinning from ear to ear, James took off the hat and swaggered proudly across the hall to the table on the far left. Sirius was shouting and cheering louder than anyone else, and when James sat down next to him, Sirius pumped his hand vigorously over and over.

“Knew you’d do it, mate!” he laughed. “You’re more of a Gryffindor than I am!”

James could see the High Table a little better now. At the end nearest him say Professor Grubbly-Plank, who gave him a sharp glance. Several other teachers who James did not recognize sat to Grubbly-Plank’s left, and then—aha! There, in the center, was the new Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore himself! Dumbledore’s hair was brown at the roots, but steadily turning grey, and there was a twinkle in his eye as he winked at James. Farther down the table, James took notice of an older woman with very stern eyes, black hair, and spectacles. Quickly he looked away, feeling for some reason frightened.

Now there weren’t many people left in line. “Shacklebolt, Kingsley,” the black boy James had been standing behind earlier, joined him at the Gryffindor table, wearing a very solemn expression that Sirius soon took to mocking; and then it was Snape’s turn. James watched eagerly, waiting for the hat to speak, worrying as it, yet again, took longer than he had hoped, and then—

“SLYTHERIN!”

James gave a sigh of relief. Sirius noticed this and roared with laughter. “What, you thought he was going to be in Slytherin?”

“Just wanted to be sure,” said James, who could not keep from smiling.

At this, Lily rounded on them both. “Slytherin’s not a bad place to be at all!”she snapped. “I even asked if I could, but the hat told me I’d never do any good there, and that’s the only reason I’m sitting with you at all!”

She turned away from them and began talking eagerly to the girl on her left. At last, the very last person had been Sorted, and now it seemed that it was time for dinner. But none of the teachers said anything—and soon the reason for that became apparent. From the doors on both sides there was a rush of very cold air, and then hundreds of white ghosts came streaming into the Great Hall, goggling at the first years who now sat at the tables.

One ghost in particular, a fat one with a ghastly grin on his face, swept past the Gryffindors with a shriek that made several girls scream. “Oooh, ickle firsties, how fun! Now I’ll get to scare you all I like! But don’t get too excited, none of the teachers will like you!”

“Stop it, Peeves, you scoundrel,” proclaimed a loud voice to James’ right. He looked—there was a ghost wearing a ruff that looked like it had come out of Shakespeare’s day, with an ugly slit along his neck that looked as if it had come from a long sword. “Sorry about that, Peeves does like his theatrics. Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service! I’m the resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower.”

“Oh!” Remus exclaimed—_of course he knew, _thought James irritably. “You’re Nearly Headless Nick, aren’t you?” Several people looked at Remus, and he immediately turned red.

“I would prefer you to call me Nearly Headless Nick,” the ghost said stiffly, and at that moment Albus Dumbledore stood up, and everyone went silent. Dumbledore was beaming at the students, his eyes open wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see all the students in front of him.

“Welcome!”he said. “Welcome to the new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I have several words I would like to say: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Also, I must warn you, unless you wish to die a painful death, the third floor corridor is off limits.” He bowed. “Thank you!”

He sat back down. Everyone clapped and cheered. James looked over at Sirius and found him grinning.

“Third floor corridor?”said Sirius. “Sounds like a fun place.”

James laughed, turned to his plate—and gasped. The dishes in front of him were now piled high with food! He had never seen so many things he liked to eat at once: roast chicken, roast beef, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and eggs and steak, boiled and roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, and for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.

Sirius, to his amazement, was downing his food as if he’d never been allowed to do in his life. Maybe he hadn’t, James thought, thinking of Sirius’ family, and slowly spooned several of his own peas onto Sirius’ plate when he wasn’t looking, and continued eating. Snape didn’t look too happy, James noticed whenever he glanced at the Slytherin table; he kept looking over at the Gryffindors longingly, probably wishing he had Lily with him. James almost felt a little sorry, but after several minutes, Snape began talking with two other first years. So, clearly, he wasn’t alone; and he seemed to be making friends better than James.

“So, you’re James Potter?”a small voice piped up. James remembered Peter; he’d forgotten him til now, and felt sorry for it.

“Yeah,” James said. “You know who my dad is, then?”

“No,” Peter said, but continued shyly, “but I did hear about the stuff your mum did against Grindelwald. Didn’t she fight him in person?”

“Not exactly,” James said, feeling a little better now that he knew he wouldn’t have to talk about Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion. “But she fought some of his biggest supporters.”

Peter brightened. “And she’s a Hufflepuff, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, but—“

“That’s where I should be,” Peter said glumly. “I don’t deserve to be in Gryffindor.”

“Nonsense,” Sirius said, having overheard the conversation. “We’re all a little scared now, but just wait! We’ll be the best students in the class, Pete, don’t you worry.”

After that Peter seemed a little happier, and he talked with James and Sirius eagerly, asking them about their homes and families; and, since Sirius didn’t want to talk about his family, this meant that James was constantly trying to find ways to avoid mentioning that hair potion. Sometimes Peter would try to bring Remus into the conversation, but Remus didn’t seem to want to talk much.

“So you’re both pureblood?” Peter asked.

“Yeah,” said Sirius, “but we’re not mean about it, unlike some people. Like my parents,” he muttered to James out of the corner of his mouth.

“I’m half and half,” Peter said, “but my dad’s told me everything I need to know about the Wizarding World. I was so afraid I wouldn’t be prepared for classes. What about you, Remus, you’re pretty—Remus?”

Remus had disappeared.

“Dunno where he went,” Sirius said. “That’s weird.”

At last, the desserts disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent. This was his first year as Headmaster, but already everyone seemed to hold him in great respect.

“Just a few more words now that we are all fed,” Dumbledore said. “There are several start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils, and that if you brought any brooms, they must be used only for Flying classes and for Quidditch, or they will be confiscated. I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch.”

Sirius nudged James. James grinned, thinking of Quidditch trials with excitement. Finally he could show everyone how good he was...

“And now, before we go to bed, there is a song of mine that I would like to teach to all of you!”cried Dumbledore. “You will catch on quickly enough, I think.”

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself into words.

“Everyone pick their favorite tune,” said Dumbledore, “and off we go!”

And the school began to bellow:

_ “Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,_

_ Teach us something please, _

_ Whether we be old and bald_

_ Or young with scabby knees, _

_ Our heads could do with filling_

_ With some interesting stuff,_

_ For now they’re bare and full of air, _

_ Dead flies and bits of fluff,_

_ So teach us things worth knowing,_

_ Bring back what we’ve forgot, _

_ Just do your best, we’ll do the rest,_

_ And learn until our brains all rot.”_

It was altogether a very strange song, and everybody finished it at different times. At last, only a loud group of Slytherins was left singing to a slow march. Dumbledore conducted the last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped the loudest.

“Ah, music,” he said, wiping his eyes, “a magic beyond all we do here—and you learned very well, I think! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!”

The Gryffindor Prefect was a tall, stuffy boy by the name of Davey Gudgeon, and he led the Gryffindor first years through the crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. There was still no sign of Remus. James’ legs felt like lead, but only because he was so tired. He was too tired, in fact, to even be surprised that the portraits were moving, although other students did notice. They climbed even more staircases, and finally came to a stumbling stop. At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very large woman in a pink silk dress.

“Password?”she said.

“Nihilo Nicil,”said Davey.

“Nothing comes from nothing,” said Remus behind them. James and Sirius jumped.

“Where’d _you _come from?” Sirius demanded.

“It’s Latin,” said Remus, not answering Sirius’ question, as the portrait swung open to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scrambled through it and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room, a cozy, round room full of poufy armchairs. Davey directed the girls through one door to their dormitory and the boys through another. At the top of a spiral staircase they found their beds at least: five four-posters hung with deep red curtains. Their trunks had already been brought up.

“Now, this is Hogwarts,” James said with a grin.

“I dunno, about the same as back home,” said Sirius, and James remembered he was rich. He stuck his tongue out at Sirius—who laughed—pulled on his pajamas, and fell into bed, not bothering to wonder about any of the teachers, or about Snape, or why Remus Lupin was acting so strange. In a matter of seconds, he was asleep.


	7. Chapter Seven: The Replacement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Classes begin. James and Sirius discover that they are not, in fact, the heroes they dreamed they would be, and find themselves knee-deep in stern professors, difficult homework, and taunts from their schoolmates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally the story's moving forward!

Over the next few days, James came to realize that it wouldn’t be easy to become the most popular student at Hogwarts. For one, everyone seemed to think that Sirius had somehow disappointed his entire family by landing himself in Gryffindor and mocked him for it, particularly the Slytherins; James, by association, became unpopular as well. People would move over if the two boys sat near them at lunch, whisper under their breath, and ruminate on the fact that Sirius’ own family must have disowned him by now. James even heard them, several times, debating his own name, and asking why it sounded vaguely familiar. James could have easily have said who his parents were, particularly his father; but telling everyone in Hogwarts that his father was famous mostly for a potion he’d made in the 1920s that made your hair more lush and beautiful was not something he thought would make his situation any better. Severus Snape, in particular, would have seized that opportunity to taunt him endlessly.

Then there were the stairs, which took some getting used to. Being magic, they never stayed fixed in one spot, and there were exactly one hundred and forty-two of them. They all seemed to have a particular kind of trick. Some stairs were rickety; some were missing a step that you had to remember to jump; some were wide and slippery; and some led to the library only on Tuesdays. But the worst part was that the stairs seemed to move around a lot, so it was hard to remember where everything was located. The consequence of this was that James got lost more than once on the first day, and had to endure the embarrassment of walking into class late. But he wasn’t alone; almost every day several students were bursting into class several minutes after it had already started.

Then there were the ghosts. They would sweep through the hallways on a regular basis, startling students as they passed through walls and doors; and they weren’t exactly helpful. Nearly Headless Nick was nice enough, and he was always happy to point first years in the right direction; but the Bloody Baron, Slytherin’s ghost, would glare at you sullenly if you asked him, and Peeves the Poltergeist was worse. It was considered terrible luck to run into him, as James soon found out. Peeves could be found in any corridor at any time, knocking broomsticks and chalk onto the floor, pulling a rug from under an unsuspecting student’s feet, and popping out from behind a corner to slam a door that you’d just opened, which he would refuse to open again until you said the magic password. Peeves got hold of James and Sirius several times in the first week, and more than once they showed up to the wrong classroom because they’d made the mistake of taking Peeves’ advice.

The classes, too, were much more difficult than James had anticipated. His parents had never really mentioned them much, only that the OWLs in fifth year had taken up all their time, but James had thought that the teachers might go a bit easier on them the first year, since they didn’t know anything yet. As he quickly found out, he was wrong. They had to read dozens of pages each night, study the night skies, and learn incantations for turning flowers into rocks that would turn the flower into an octopus if you didn’t get it exactly right. Three times a week they went to the greenhouses to learn Herbology, where they learned how to take care of strange plants and fungi, and find out what to use them for; one Hufflepuff boy, upon touching one of them without gloves, was rewarded with erupting boils all over his skin and had to be sent to Madam Pomfrey, the Hogwarts nurse.

The most boring class was History of Magic, which they had with the Ravenclaws. This was partly because James knew the material already (some of it being common knowledge among wizards), and partly because Professor Binns looked so old James found himself wondering if he’d die if he stepped back too far on his little stool. They were expected to take notes for the entire class period, and James fell asleep more than once, and was prodded awake by Sirius. Peter didn’t seem to be faring much better; even perfect Lily Evans nodded off more than once. Naturally, only Remus paid perfect attention, which James couldn’t begin to fathom.

Professor Slughorn, the Deputy Headmaster, taught Potions and was nice enough; but he seemed to like favoring certain students over others. When he asked the students for their names, he immediately picked out Sirius as someone special.

“Black!”he exclaimed, as Sirius turned pink and looked down. “But you’re surely not Andromeda’s brother, are you? I never thought she mentioned—”

“Cousin,” Sirius muttered.

“Cousin! Then you must be...” His face brightened. “Ah! Walburga’s son!”

“Walburga’s son, the _Gryffindor,” _called Goyle from the back of the room. Several other students laughed.

“None of that, now,” Slughorn reprimanded gently, “I’m disappointed, of course, that I don’t have him in my House, but that doesn’t mean he’s any less of a student! And now,” Slughorn said, looking carefully at James, “I’d say I recognized the name Potter somewhere...”

Instantly, Snape choked. James was seized by panic. Of course _Snape _would know who his father was, Potions was his favorite subject! He’d have to lie again, he realized. He tried to ignore the thought of what his father would say if he knew his son was telling everyone his parents worked at an apothecary.

“No, sir,” James said quickly. “I don’t think so.”

“Pity, pity,” said Slughorn, and didn’t seem to think James worthy of more attention. “Now, I know this is only your first day, so I won’t bother to ask if any one of you knows the ingredients in a Draught of Living—“

But Snape’s hand had slowly risen into the air.

“This is a surprise,” said Slughorn, and James began to wish he’d told the professor who his dad was after all. “And you are...?”

“Snape, sir,” said Snape quietly, “Severus Snape.”

“I don’t believe I know anyone by that name,” Slughorn mused to himself. “But tell away, Mr. Snape! If you know it, what _does _make the Draught of Living Death?”

Snape barely waited until Slughorn had finished speaking to give his answer. “An infusion of wormwood, add to that powdered root of asphodel.”

“Marvelous! Absolutely marvelous!” Slughorn beamed, and James seethed. Leave it to Snape to get into the professor’s good graces on the first day of school. “Take ten points for Slytherin! And would you believe,” he continued, addressing the entire class, “this young genius is in my house!” He cleared his throat. “Now, having learned the ingredients, we must next find out what makes this Draught of Living Death so...well, deadly!”

He chuckled at his own joke and turned to write on the board at the front of the room. Snape chose this moment to turn around in his seat and shoot James a smug look.

“Git,” Sirius muttered next to him, “thinks he’s something, doesn’t he?”

James’ eyes fell on Lily Evans. He’d once hoped he might end up her friend, but as she awarded Snape a bright smile, he wasn’t so sure.

“Yeah,” he said to Sirius, “Evans seems to think so, too.”

After Potions, they had Charms with the Ravenclaws. Professor Flitwick was young for a teacher, and tiny, too. He had to stand on a pile of books to teach, but no one dared to mock him for it, especially after he knocked Bertram Aubrey’s hat off his head and out the window when Aubrey told several students he could perform a hex with his eyes shut.

On Wednesday, something peculiar happened; all the students were sent back to their dormitories early without warning, and kept there for several hours. Later, they received the explanation that one of the Hufflepuffs had vanished after supper, but had turned up in the Forbidden Forest, and that was the end of that. James was beginning to realize that Hogwarts could be an extremely confusing place.

Thursday was an unfortunate day for James and Sirius. The night before, several older Gryffindors had filled the first years’ dormitories with a foot of cold water; so, the next morning, everyone woke up to screams, swearing, and the realization that some of their clothes were soaked. Half of the first years took off for breakfast immediately, before anyone else could ask them to help; Lily Evans was one, James noticed. After that, it took several minutes for the students to calm down, and even longer for the situation to be resolved. Peter went for help, and in a few minutes, Davey Gudgeon and some other students had cleaned up the mess. Then, when they were about to head to breakfast...

“My pin is gone!” Sirius exclaimed, then groaned into his hands.

“It’s just a pin, mate, let’s go,” said James, trying to pull him to the door. Breakfast would be finishing up soon...

But Sirius wouldn’t hear of it. “No, no, you don’t understand,” he said in a panic, “my mum gave that to me—it’s the Black family crest! First I get sorted into Gryffindor—“

“Oy, don’t worry,” said James, dropping to his knees to search, “we’ll help you look.”

“Yeah!” Peter piped up beside them. “It’ll be here somewhere—“

And it was—tacked to the garbage can by some other students who James decided he’d hunt down when they all came back later this evening. But they couldn’t do anything at the moment, and James’ robes were soaked.

“You go ahead, Pete,” Sirius told Peter, “so you don’t get lost.”

Peter hovered anxiously near them. “You sure?”

“Positive.” James didn’t want to say it to poor Peter’s face, but the mousy-haired boy had a habit of arriving several minutes late to every class because he couldn’t remember where he was going. “We’ll be fine; we’ll catch up later. I think we’ve got Transfiguration.”

Once Peter left, James and Sirius set to work drying James’ robes. Nothing seemed to do much good. They tried rubbing the robes over the back of a chair and on James’ bed, blowing on them, stretching them from end to end, beating them against the wall, and attempting to use a drying spell Sirius had overheard his dad use(it didn’t work). Finally, James had to accept the fact that he was going to have to wear damp robes, and after putting them on—a lengthy process, all things considered—they set out for Transfiguration.

“James,” panted Sirius as they hopped over the broken stair and shifted directions with a changing staircase, “how late are we?”

“I dunno,” said James, “I didn’t look at the time. I’m sure we’ll be all right. For all we know, breakfast isn’t even over yet.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Whatever you say, James.”

Breakfast had indeed come to an end; James and Sirius ran past the dining hall and could hear no one. That was a bad sign. Shaking off the feeling that they were much later than he had thought, James pushed on, trying to remember where the Transfiguration classroom was.

“I think it’s just on the first floor,” he said after he had made several wrong turns. “Right?”

“I dunno.” Sirius sounded just as worried as James was. “I thought it was on the third floor.”

“Er...” James turned around. “Yeah, it is the third floor!” He groaned. “I really hope breakfast just ended.”

“Probably,” said Sirius. He elbowed James. “I bet we’re worried about nothing.”

James grinned back, but he decided he’d be more confident when they found their class.

Fortunately, after they reached the third floor of the castle, it didn’t take long for them to find the Transfiguration classroom. The door was shut, and James could hear someone’s voice from inside. That couldn’t be good...but class couldn’t have been going for very long, could it? The other first years hadn’t been gone for very long. It had probably just started a few minutes ago.

“So,” said Sirius next to him, “class has already started. How long’s it been going, d’you think?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “If we get points taken off, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“I don’t think it’s been more than five minutes.” James grinned. “Let’s go.”

He pushed the door open and realized, in that moment, how difficult it is to walk into a silent room, filled with several dozen students, and one teacher, when you are late and have been expected for some time. His and Sirius’ footsteps sounded impossibly loud on the floor, much louder than James had ever thought they could sound; and as he stepped forward, Professor McGonagall, a tall witch with black eyes and wearing green robes, glared down at them very sternly.

James and Sirius swallowed.

“I don’t suppose it has occurred to either of you that you had a class today?” Professor McGonagall’s sharp voice echoed throughout the room. “You have arrived almost twenty minutes late!”

Dozens of eyes were on both of them, and James felt as though he could feel them.

“We got lost—“ said Sirius.

“There was a prank—“ added James.

“I know very well that the older students sabotaged the first years, and they will most certainly not be doing so again!” McGonagall said sharply. “But most of the other first year students were here _on time. _The only exception is Mr. Pettigrew.”

Peter turned bright red. James stole a glance at Sirius, who looked absolutely mortified, and then slowly looked round to the other students. Lily Evans was hiding a smile behind her hand—James wanted to hex her—and Remus wasn’t looking at them at all.

“For being tardy, I regret that I must take ten points from Gryffindor, five for each of you!”

James gasped. “Ten points? But that’s—“

“I know that Gryffindor is my own house, Mr. Potter, and believe me, that gives me all the more reason to be displeased with you.” Professor McGonagall sighed. “Sit down, both of you.”

Silently, James and Sirius slid into a bench next to Peter. James couldn’t even look at Sirius. What would his parents think, if they knew he had been twenty minutes late to his first Transfiguration class?

“Now,” McGonagall said, having arrived at the front of the classroom, “as I was saying, Transfiguration is a nobler and more elegant form of magic. The spells are complex, take many tries to get right, and could become disastrous if performed wrong. As Transfiguration is such a dangerous form of magic, any of you caught messing around in my class will leave and not come back.” She looked pointedly at James and Sirius, who looked back as innocently as they could. “You have been warned.”

Then she changed into a tabby cat and back again, and turned the blackboard into a piece of chalk and her desk into a dog. All the students were very impressed, but it soon became clear that none of them would be turning into cats any time soon. McGonagall had given the students notes already—James and Sirius had Peter’s promise to give them the notes—so now each student was given the task to turn their quill into a match. This proved more difficult than anyone could have thought; by the end of the lesson, almost no one had made any difference to their quills.

“Sorry,” Peter whispered to them. “I tried to get here on time, I really did.”

“That wouldn’t have stopped her shouting at us,” said Sirius grimly. “She seems to have it out for any rulebreakers, doesn’t she?”

Unexpectedly, Remus whipped around in his seat to face them. “Maybe that’s because rules are there to keep us safe, you halfwit!”

Sirius raised his eyebrows at James. “Sensitive, isn’t he?

After the disaster that had been Transfiguration, James was determined to make it to class on time. Sirius agreed with him. Anyway, the last class of the week was the one everyone was most curious about: Defense Against The Dark Arts. Professor Nibley had been loved and well-known for many years; and now that he was gone, sooner than anyone had expected, naturally everyone was wondering who had replaced him. The general opinion among the students was that the replacement would be terrible, or at least too boring to live up to Nibley’s reputation. Peter squeaked out his praise for Nibley and fear that he’d do terribly in class if he didn’t have a good teacher, Remus—ever the shining beacon of wisdom—hypothesized that since the replacement had been hired last-minute, he wasn’t likely to be very good, and Evans repeated Snape’s doubts about James had to admit that he agreed with them; he knew just about everything there was to know about Nibley, from his victories in the war to his favorite hex, and he was both dreading and looking forward to the class. Maybe the new teacher would be so awful he’d get sacked, and they could bring in a better one...Nibley, perhaps, miraculously recovered from his injury.

Sirius, for once, disagreed with James. “My parents hate him,” he told James more than once, “so that’s got to mean something!”

“Sirius, trust me,” said James, “my parents know Nibley. This bloke won’t be anywhere _near _that good.”

Sirius shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

Friday morning, James and Sirius left early. They roamed the castle grounds, found the Defense Against The Dark Arts classroom, and came back just in time for breakfast in the Great Hall. As they were coming into the Hall, Peeves swooped low over their heads, cackling madly.

“Shove off, Peeves,” said James angrily.

“Potty and Blackie were twenty minutes late to class!” Peeves hooted for all the Great Hall—and most certainly the Gryffindors—to hear. “Potty and Blackie lost Gryffindor ten points!”

“SHUT IT!” Sirius roared; and, continuing to cackle, Peeves swooped off to torment the Hufflepuffs.

Trying not to look at anyone, James and Sirius sat down next to Peter. Remus didn’t look at them; he had his nose in a book, and had already finished eating.

“Sorry,” whispered Peter sympathetically.

“We can take it,” James said proudly, wanting to appear braver than he felt. “All first years get lost!”

“Yeah, but I doubt anyone’s ever showed up _twenty minutes _into class,” Sirius muttered next to him.

“Yeah, well—we’ll get there on time today,” said James. “We left early and everything, and we know where the Defense Against The Dark Arts classroom is. It’s on the second floor, east side.”

“It is?” Peter exclaimed, but before he could say anything more, Remus broke in.

“I don’t know if you’ve realized, but that’s _another _rule you’ve broken,” he told them, looking up from his book. “You can’t go wandering around Hogwarts before breakfast.”

James looked at Sirius, whose mouth had dropped open.

“Rubbish,” said James.

“I bet you made that up,” said Sirius.

“I did not,” said Remus coolly, “ask any of the teachers if you like. But you’d better not lose Gryffindor any more points!”

After breakfast they set off for class. James and Sirius, having a very good idea of where the Defense Against The Dark Arts classroom was, arrived before anyone else and walked right in. James couldn’t wait to see what kind of replacement Dumbledore had hired...

Except that there wasn’t anyone in the room.

“Hello?” James called. “Professor?”

“Is this the right class?” shouted Sirius.

“Shut it, of course it is,” said Lily Evans, who had come in just behind them. “Our teacher just hasn’t showed up yet.” Turning her back on them, she flounced over to a bench across from them and sat down.

Several minutes later, the other students began to arrive. Peter puffed in behind Evans, having followed James and Sirius from a distance; behind him came Remus, who sat down and immediately began to read. Ten minutes passed, yet there was still no sign of any kind of teacher.

“Should we find one of the teachers?” Kingsley Shacklebolt suggested. “Maybe McGonagall would know what to do...”

“She’ll be teaching,” said Remus. “If we go for anyone, we’ll go find Dumbledore.”

Kingsley got to his feet. “Well, then. You want to come with me, Lupin?”

But at that moment, the doors at the back of the room were thrown open loudly. All the students turned around. A mist had floated into the classroom, and out from it walked a tall, dark-haired man wearing black robes and carrying a wand.

“Ah, the first years!”he exclaimed; he had a loud, booming voice. “How exciting! To think, you have magical talent, and ability, and skill, and potential...and you know nothing. Nothing at all! What an opportunity I have before me, to teach such intelligent young minds!”

Slowly, the teacher walked all the way to the front of the room, his shoes clicking on the hard floor. All the students’ eyes followed him. At last he stopped, took out a piece of chalk, and wrote on the board:

KNOWLEDGE  
PREPARATION

ACTION

“My name is Augustus Rookwood,” he said, “and these are the three principles of Defense Against The Dark Arts: knowledge, preparation, and action. The first step is to learn the knowledge of fighting the Dark Arts; for we can do _nothing _without knowledge! Imagine that you want to stop a dementor, or defeat a monster; but if all you have is a wand and no spells, then I’m sorry to say you’re done for! _Knowledge _is the first step; it’s a weapon. Later, you’ll practice, and hone your skills, and that’s preparation; the final step, _using _magic to fight the Dark Arts, is action. But now, as first years, the most important step for you is knowledge.”

Professor Rookwood might say all kinds of wonderful things, but James knew what it all meant: they were just supposed to start reading. With a sigh, he opened his book, and so did the rest of the class.

“Wait!” Rookwood exclaimed, shocking them all. “I know what that sounded like; but you don’t need to read! In my experience, _watching _is the best way of learning. Put your books away, and watch me!”

The atmosphere in the classroom changed at once. Quickly, the first years put their books and quills away and listened to Rookwood as eagerly as if he’d just told them they had the rest of the day off school. He didn’t disappoint, either. Within several minutes, the new teacher had started a fire on his desk and put it out, grown thistles and branches around the door, and manipulated his owl into rolling around on the floor like a dog.

“I told you!” Sirius crowed to James as the class howled with laughter, “Rookwood’s loads better than old Nibley!”

James didn’t want to believe it, but he was starting to think that Sirius might be right. Professor Rookwood certainly knew what he was doing. He performed several more feats for them, including making the room spin for a minute like an amusement park ride; and then, at the end of class, he didn’t even give them any homework! According to him, reading long pages of their books would surely turn their brains to jelly, and they wouldn’t be able to do any sort of good when they returned to class in a week. Needless to say, no students looked ready to dispute _that; _except for Remus Lupin, who seemed thoroughly disappointed.

“Well, who cares?” Sirius told Remus as the bookworm returned to his studying, his face red. “Who wants homework anyway?”

Rookwood showed them one more spell before they left: Expelliarmus, which, according to him, knocked a person’s wand right out of his hand. Naturally, all the students tried it, with varying results. Most students got their quills knocked out of their hands instead of their wands, several were knocked onto the floor, others didn’t come near to accomplishing anything, and one boy, strangely, had his robes torn to pieces. James did succeed in making Sirius’ wand wiggle, but that was about it.

Eventually the first years seemed to understand what Rookwood was, clearly, trying to teach them: that Defense Against The Dark Arts was impossibly hard, and they might really need to study for years and years before they could be as good as him. Chattering excitedly about spells and enchantments, they traipsed out of the classroom.

“Just remember,” Rookwood called behind them, “knowledge is power!”


	8. Chapter Eight: The Intruder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Professor Rookwood continues to be a favorite among the first-year students, Quidditch trials go horribly wrong, James and Sirius get themselves in over their heads, and a major turning point occurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the late update! This was an important chapter, and it needed to be good. You'll see why.

As the weeks passed, it slowly became evident to the first years that Professor Rookwood was not only better than the old Nibley, but that he was the best Defense Against The Dark Arts professor the school had ever had. After the first day, several students were inclined to believe that it had been a fluke, that Rookwood had used up all his best tricks just to get the students to like him; but on the second day of Defense Against The Dark Arts, Rookwood began the lesson by letting two ferocious Gobswoggles loose in the room and obliterating them both within a matter of seconds.

“To drop one’s guard,” he proclaimed, “is to lose the battle from the beginning!” Rookwood often dropped such sayings at the start of class, with the result that in a matter of days his students were shouting, “Even a trophy out of place could mean a hidden attack unless you notice it first!” across crowded hallways on the way to their next class.

As the weeks went by, Rookwood showed his students an increasing number of spells: Stupefy, the Body-Bind curse, and more. Naturally, nearly everyone was terrible at them, but Rookwood certainly knew what he was doing. The fifth week of class, James and the other first years entered the classroom to find their desks sitting on the ceiling, and had to work together to get them down. The sixth week, Rookwood set snakes in the floorboards; and the seventh, a massive wind blew them all out of class at the end of the period. And, to top it all off...he never assigned a single page of reading!

“This is spectacular,” Sirius said one day as he and James left Rookwood’s classroom. “Best class by far, and we never have to do a bloody thing!”

“He’s brilliant, that’s for sure,” James agreed.

“Foolish, more like,” Remus piped up, appearing once more beside them and scowling, as he seemed to like doing. “There could be real knowledge he’s neglecting to teach us! Most likely he doesn’t know a thing.”

“Doesn’t know?” Sirius said in disbelief. “What are you, mental? He’s taught us loads more than that old bloke Nibley ever knew.”

“Yeah, I bet you’re the only one here who doesn’t like Rookwood,” said James, pushing ahead of Remus. “Serves you right too, for being such a snob.”

“Yeah, Lupin,” said Peter for good measure as the three friends passed down the hall, leaving the mousy-haired boy behind them. James felt a small pang of guilt to see Remus standing alone in the hall, but he had it coming, didn’t he? If he’d even try to be a little more friendly, he’d actually have friends instead of driving them all away with that stuffy attitude of his.

McGonagall continued to make Transfiguration more difficult than ever. The second week of class, she made the first years turn a quill into a stick; only Remus Lupin got anywhere near success. However, despite the struggling of her students, McGonagall showed no signs of mercy.

“It should not matter that you have barely had more than a week of training,” she told them sternly, as James and Sirius tried to avoid her intense stare. “You are wizards and all have a natural ability for this sort of thing; and you will not succeed if you do not understand.”

This was, of course, followed directly by an assignment to write eleven inches of parchment on the fundamentals of transfiguring small objects, and the groaning of the class could not change her mind.

Potions was even worse. The students continued to mock James and Sirius for being, respectively, a nobody and a Gryffindor Black, and any success that James might have had was completely overshadowed by Snape’s and Evans’ combined skill. At least once a week, Professor Slughorn held up some example of Evans’ work, and he regularly asked Snape to demonstrate a concept for the class.

But James had stopped thinking so much about his classes, because he had something far more important on his mind, something that as the weeks passed, eclipsed even Defense Against The Dark Arts: Quidditch tryouts. The Gryffindor team was holding theirs this Saturday, and even as skilled as he was, James knew that there was a slight chance of failure; and for him, even the smallest chance that he wouldn’t make the team was a matter of concern. He’d told at least a dozen first years how good he was, and unless he proved himself, he’d be the laughingstock of the entire school; and worse, Severus Snape would have months’ work of teasing to give him.

“Yeah, Remus,” Peter added for good measure, and the three boys passed down the hall, leaving the mousy-haired boy behind them. Part of James felt guilty to see Remus standing alone in the hall—but he had it coming, didn’t he? If he’d just _try _to be a bit more friendly, he’d actually have friends instead of driving them all away with that stuffy attitude of his.

McGonagall continued to make Transfiguration more difficult than ever. There was no one like her; she seemed to have it out for every first year, James and Sirius in particular. The second week of class, she told them to turn a stick into a writing quill; only Remus, naturally, got anywhere near success. However, despite the struggling of her students, McGonagall showed no signs of mercy.

“It shouldn’t matter that you have been in school barely more than a month,” she told them sternly one day, after a sufficient number of students complained that they weren’t skilled enough to change the color of their books from brown to yellow. “You are wizards, and you _all _have a natural ability for this sort of thing, regardless of blood status. Your skill is not the problem; the problem is your understanding. If you don’t understand, you will never succeed.”

This was, of course, followed by the announcement that the homework for the next day was eleven inches of parchment on the properties of Transfiguration, particularly when involving color changes. The class let out a groan, but even that couldn’t change her mind.

“I don’t understand why we got stuck with her as our head of House,” James muttered to Sirius when McGonagall had her back turned. “I’d give anything to trade with the Slytherins.”

But Slughorn and Potions were hardly any better. The students continued to mock James and Sirius for being, respectively, a nobody and a Gryffindor Black, and any success that James might have had was completely overshadowed by the combined skill of Snape and Evans. At least once a week, Professor Slughorn held up Evans’ work as an example, and he regularly asked Snape to demonstrate a concept for the class. Naturally Snape did perfectly each time, while Slughorn beamed at him and Snape smirked at James.

But as autumn drew on, James ceased to care as much about his classes, because he had something far more important on his mind: Quidditch tryouts. He’d been practicing for months, and he was good enough anyway, so he really doubted he wouldn’t make the team; but he was still worried. He’d told everyone in earshot how good he was, and unless he proved just that, he’d be the laughingstock of the entire school. Worse, Severus Snape would have months’ work of mocking to give him.

“You’re going to be brilliant, James,” Sirius told him one evening as he rode his broom across the courtyard. “You _are _brilliant! You don’t have to practice this much.”

“I’m not practicing because I’m worried,” James said with a grin, hovering two feet above the ground. “It’s just fun.” He slid off of his broom and picked it up, and he and Sirius walked toward the doors. “But thanks for the confidence. You sure you don’t want to try out? I’ve seen you fly, you’re not bad.”

“It’s not that, I…” Sirius sighed. “I know I’d do fine, but my parents are angry enough that I’m in Gryffindor. If I join the Quidditch team, that’d be like...I dunno, telling them I’m _proud _not to be in Slytherin.”

James was surprised. “But you are.”

“Yeah, but my parents…listen, James, I just can’t—”

“I get it, Sirius,” James said quickly, hating the panic that took over Sirius’ voice whenever his friend mentioned his family. “I really do. It’s not like I’m making you join Quidditch.”

“Yeah, I know.” Sirius laughed. “This is ridiculous, we both love Quidditch and we’re arguing over it!”

James laughed with him, glad to see Sirius return to his funny self. “Don’t worry, mate, I won’t let us down.”

“Bet Snivellus wishes he could say the same,” Sirius said under his breath as they walked back into Hogwarts. “He never picked up a broom before our first flying lesson, that’s for sure.”

James snickered, remembering how Snape had been one of the last to summon his broom into his hand, only for it to smack him in the nose. “The look on his face! I’ll remember that for years.”

By the time they got up to the top of the tower, the last of the students were headed inside. Quickly, James and Sirius hurried behind them, not wanting to get caught in the corridor after curfew. Davey Gudgeon was nowhere to be seen, so the boys took the opportunity to sneak upstairs before they could be reprimanded for almost missing curfew, in addition to their many other sins.

Kingsley Shacklebolt, too, was not there when James and Sirius reached their dormitory. They couldn’t believe their luck.

“Everyone’s doing homework tonight,” James commented with a grin.

“Lucky for us,” Sirius said, and then the curtains in front of Remus Lupin’s bed swished.

“_Not _everyone,” he said. “Mine’s done.”

James and Sirius groaned in unison.

“Not you again,” said James.

Sirius crossed his arms. “What do you have, eyes in the back of your head?”

Remus didn’t seem to find that question worth answering. “Where exactly have you two been? Trying to burn down the castle?”

“Hogwarts can’t be burned down without the right spell,” Sirius shot back. “And we don’t even know how to turn a person into a dog.”

“Not yet,” Remus said. “You’ll figure that out eventually, and then McGonagall will really hate you.”

“She doesn’t hate us—“

“Don’t you remember her face the first day of class?” James shook his head. “Come on, Sirius, she wants us out of the school.”

“Yeah, all right,” Sirius conceded with a sigh. “But honestly, Lupin, we weren’t doing anything out of the ordinary.”

Remus looked skeptical, so James decided to help Sirius a bit. “Come on, you git, Quidditch trials are in four days. You really don’t think I wouldn’t be practicing, do you?”

“What I think is that you’re so conceited you don’t think you _need _practice,” Remus said coolly. “Now, you probably don’t know it, but McGonagall is testing us on live transformation tomorrow, so I have studying to do.”

And with that, he closed his curtains, and neither boy heard more from him.

“Good riddance,” James muttered under his breath.

“School would be more fun if we didn’t have him in here,” Sirius agreed. “What a hypocrite. How can he call _you _conceited when he thinks there isn’t a better student than him?”

“Talking about Lupin?” Peter chimed in, and James almost jumped. Peter was so unassuming, sometimes James didn’t notice him until he was right there with them.

“Thought he’d caught us,” James said with a smirk.

Peter nodded. “You know, I don’t think you should treat him like this.”

“Oh, what d’you know?” Sirius shook his head. “Sorry, Peter, but he brings it on himself. If he’d just be less stuffy—“

“I know,” Peter said quietly. “But he’s got something else going on. He’s out of class sometimes, ‘visiting relatives’ he says…but he’s got circles under his eyes the day after, and have you seen those odd scars on his face?”

“Yeah,” James said, realizing that that was all true. “I mean…I guess he does.”

“Come on, Peter,” Sirius said. “If he needed help, he’d ask somebody.”

“Oh.” Peter sounded as if he hadn’t considered that idea. “Yeah, maybe.” He shrugged then, seeming to forget the conversation. “Well, good luck with Quidditch, James.”

James grinned. “Thanks, mate. You know—“

“Would you three shut up?”

James jumped, afraid that Remus had overheard their conversation, but it was just Kingsley Shacklebolt, who looked none too happy.

“It’s past lights out,” Kingsley snapped, “we’ve got assessments tomorrow, and you’re talking as loudly as three newborn barn owls!”

“Oh, that’s a little unfair,” Sirus protested. “Barn owls look so ugly. Don’t you think the three of us are more like three snowy owls?”

James nudged Sirius, suppressing the urge to laugh.

“Sorry,” Sirius said with an innocence that didn’t seem to fit him.

With a huff, Kingsley disappeared, and the three boys climbed into bed and promptly went to sleep.

The day of Quidditch trials dawned bright and clear, which relieved Jamss of his major fear: that the weather would be terrible, since his dad had never let him fly in bad weather. Of course, he’d have to get used to that once he made the team—_if _he made the team, a nasty voice whispered in his head—but for today, he wouldn’t have to deal with the possibility of being knocked out of the sky by a stray gust of wind. Beyond that, there wasn’t really much to worry about.

Of course, there was also the possibility that Snape could be there and would distract him at the worst moment…but that was impossible. Students from other Houses were not allowed on the playing field; if Snape tried to sneak in, he’d be promptly escorted by one of the five supervising adults.

Still, if there was the slightest chance that his audition would be disrupted, James needed to do something about it; he had to preserve his reputation.

“Oh, what reputation?” scoffed Sirius when James mentioned his worries. “For troublemaking?”

“If I’m _famous_ for that, then so’re you,” James shot back with a grin.

“Maybe.” Sirius grinned with him. “What d’you need?”

So Sirius would be positioned at the far end of the field, watching for any sign for Snape. If he spotted him, he’d signal to Peter, who would be standing at the other end, near the professors. Peter would then tell one of them, and Snape would be taken back inside. If James was lucky, Snape would even get a detention.

“And where are you going?” asked Remus as they left the dormitory.

“Where are we _going_?” echoed James incredulously. “What d’you think I’m carrying my broom for, a bonfire?”

“Quidditch trials,” Sirius called over his shoulder as they left the dormitory. Remus didn’t say another word, which both boys were extraordinarily grateful for, and soon they were joined by Peter.

“Is the…is the plan still on?” the smaller boy asked excitedly.

“Yeah, but quiet down, Pete,” James said, looking anxiously at the crowds of students all around them. “Wait ‘til we get outside.”

As the three boys walked past the Astronomy tower, James heard a familiar voice call out behind him. “Well, if it isn’t the _star student.”_

James spun around—it was Snape, smirking maliciously at them. He wasn’t surrounded by Slytherins this time, which was unusual. James clutched his broom tighter.

“Black, I’m honestly surprised,” Snape went on, “why you continue to follow the loser around when you could follow your cousins’ crowd instead…oh, that’s right!” Snape spoke as if he’d just remembered, his grin growing wider. “You’re a disappointment to your parents. You’re a _Gryffindor. _No one wants you anyway.”

James put a hand on Sirius’ arm to restrain him.

“We’re off to Quidditch,” James said coolly, “and since you’re a coward you’re not invited.”

Snape glowered, but recovered quickly. “You think you’re invincible, don’t you, Potter? And yet, the only friend you could make is that mousy Pettigrew—”

That was enough for James. He could take insults to himself, but not both of his friends. “Hey, leave Peter alone, Snivellus,” he snapped. “He hasn’t done anything to you, and he’s not mousy. And Sirius isn’t a disappointment!”

Snape curled his lip. “Have it your way…” He glanced at James’ broom. “And have…_fun _at Quidditch.”

He turned sharply and walked off.

James glanced nervously at Sirius. “Was that what I—”

“It was,” said Siris morosely. “That was a threat.”

“Just forget him,” said Peter. “He can’t come on the pitch, and you’re going to be late!”

“He’s right.” Sirius forced a smile. “Come on, you’ll do great!”

And, trying to forget Snape, James followed him.

“Come on, come _on, _next up, please—I don’t have all day, you know!”

Nathan Bailey was the Gryffindor Quidditch captain, a seventh year, and he looked like he meant business. He stood at only five and a half feet, but between the thick eyebrows that gave him a permanent scowl, his dark eyes, and the way he liked to shout everything, James knew this boy was not someone to cross.

“Wonder what’d happen if I walked up behind him and tripped him,” James heard Sirius mutter beside him.

“Shut it!” Jokingly, he shoved Sirius sideways. “This is serious.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Sirius, deadpan. “That’s why _I’m _here.”

James stared at his friend. “Mate, did you just—"

“Oy!” Nathan Bailey’s shout interrupted their conversation. James and Sirius looked up. “You both trying out?”

“Er—er, no,” Sirius said. “He is. I’m watching—you know, here for support---”

“Out of the question,” Bailey snapped. “Only tryouts here, the pitch is too crowded!”

Sirius looked desperately at James.

“You can’t do that,” James protested. “He’s a Gryffindor, we both are!”

Bailey narrowed his eyes. “You’re James Potter, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” James said, as Sirius mouthed _reputation. _“Why?”

“I’ve heard of you. You’re a troublemaker.” Bailey glared at them. “I don’t usually let first years try out, but I’ve heard of your particular skill, so I am willing to allow you…_as long as you get your friend back inside. _Is that clear?”

James looked at Sirius, stumped for what to do. He didn’t want _Snivellus _to mess with his chances of getting on the team, and without Sirius…

“Give us a minute,” he said to Bailey.

The boys turned away where the prickly captain couldn’t see them. “Okay,” said James, “what d’you think? I don’t want you to leave---”

“I don’t want to leave either,” Sirius whispered, “but you’ve _got _to try out. I’ll watch anyway, from inside. Besides, Peter’s already at his position.”

James was surprised. “He is?”

Sirius nodded. “Far end. I saw him sneak over there. He’s good at that, no one even saw him. As long as you try out early—”

“All right,” James conceded, realizing that he suddenly liked Peter Pettigrew a bit more. “But make sure you watch.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Sirius said with a grin.

That made James feel better, and he turned back to Bailey, who had his arms crossed sternly. “He’s leaving.”

“Good,” Bailey said icily. “Then can we please _continue with the tryouts?” _

“Yes,” James said quickly. “Sorry.”

“Good luck,” Sirius whispered, before walking back inside.

James looked back at Bailey, who was still glowering at him. James stood up straight and tried to look innocent, but he didn’t think it helped; Bailey rolled his eyes and turned away.

“Next!” shouted the captain. Christopher Vane, a large third-year, stepped forward. He looked incredibly nervous; even from the back of the line, James could see beads of sweat dripping down his fat face.

As Vane wobbled off into the sky, James peered across the field, hoping to catch a glimpse of Peter; but there was no one to be seen. He grinned. Their new friend had done his job well…

“Next!”

Vane was dismounting, and at the same time a fifth-year girl stepped up. James didn’t remember her name, but she was good—she tried out for Keeper, successfully blocking most of the passes thrown her way. One escaped her, but she stopped four others that followed, and when she dismounted, she looked confident.

That didn’t matter. James was trying out for Chaser anyway.

“Next!” James was now fourth in line. Nathan Davies, a second year, stepped forward; he had a Cleansweep, just like James—and to make things worse, he was trying out for Chaser too. James decided to watch more intently. Davies was only a second year, but maybe he’d tried out last year and hadn’t gotten in, and this time he’d come back ready and determined.

As Davies prepared his broom, two small objects were unleashed into the air—James squinted at them. What were they? They looked familiar, but…

Then he realized. Bludgers! He’d seen pictures of them, but never up close!

James leaned forward, watching as Davies took off. The Bludgers were released into the air, and Davies was given the task of chasing after them. Bloody bones, his broom was fast…

“Oy!” James was interrupted by a voice behind him—the young instructor, Madam Hooch, was glaring at the far end of the field. “You can’t be out there!”

She was talking to someone, but who could it be? Who would be out here who wasn’t trying out for Quidditch?

Peter Pettigrew, of course. He’d been discovered.

Heart in his boots, James watched as Peter emerged from behind a tree and walked quickly toward the scowling Madam Hooch. Briefly, he met James’ eye, looking absolutely crestfallen. Then he had to turn his attention back to the flying instructor, who was beginning to scold him.

And standing behind them, to James’ fury, was Severus Snape.

Snape sneered at James, who glared back—Snivellus knew what he was doing. He was here to make sure James failed in his test. Neither of them said anything, but they didn’t have to, James could see the sentiment written clearly in Snape’s eyes: _I can’t wait to see the look on your face when everyone mocks you for not making the team. _The second James took off, Snape would be able to put any curse on him that he wanted…

James clutched his wand, wishing he could whip it out and put a curse on Snape so terrible he’d fear James for the rest of his life—but could there be a different opportunity? Dimly, James heard spectators cheer for Davies, heard Bailey call out the next Gryffindor…but his attention was on Snape. Despite his situation, a plan was beginning to form—Peter might be busted, but Snape was still on the Quidditch pitch.

If James’ friends couldn’t save his tryout, he’d do it himself.

“Severus,” he said, certain that it was the first and last time he would call Snape by his actual name. “What are you doing here?”

Snape’s smirk instantly vanished. He took a step backward, opening his mouth—but before he could say a word, Bailey had spun round, even as the current Gryffindor started to land.

“Oy!” Bailey stomped toward Snape, hands on his hips, scowling, and looking for all the world like an overgrown duck—it was all James could do to keep from laughing. “You’re a Slytherin, aren’t you?”

Snape glowered at James before looking at Bailey.

“Of course I am,” he said smoothly. Arrogant snob, thought James—he didn’t even bothering denying he wasn’t supposed to be here. “But, really, why can’t I just stand here? I’m not _doing _anything, I’m just watching tryouts. I was going to try out for Quidditch myself, you know—”

James rolled his eyes. Snape had no intention of doing anything related to Quidditch—he hated flying, and everyone knew it.

“Here to watch, eh?” Bailey crossed his arms over his chest. “Last year a Slytherin torched a Ravenclaw’s broom at tryouts because he claimed he _just wanted to watch_. I don’t give a damn if you’re related to Arnold Vogler himself, you aren’t Gryffindor and you aren’t here to try out, so you’d better beat it before I tow you inside myself!”

Snape clenched his fists, clearly furious. James watched closely, wondering what Snape would do—but from what he’d seen of him, he knew Snape wasn’t one for picking fights in public. No, his talents lay in getting close enough to someone to put a vomiting potion in their bath water.

“All right,” said Snape, looking not at Bailey, but at James. There was still murder in his eyes…but not as much as before. James had beat him, then. “Fine.”

And without another word, Snape spun on his heel and stalked away.

James couldn’t help himself. A grin burst across his face. As he looked backwards at the castle, he could see Sirius looking through a window—he gave Sirius a thumbs-up. Sirius grinned back.

They’d done it, they’d beaten Snape—

“Potter!”

James realized, belatedly, that this was the third time Bailey had called his name. Slowly, he turned back to the pitch.

“Yes?” he said.

“If you don’t want to hold back the entire bloody line,” said Bailey, “you’re up next.”

James felt his heart race slightly faster—it was time, and half of Gryffindor House was watching, including that friend of Snape’s, Lily Evans. “Er—er, all right. What do I have to do?”

He winced. He knew what he had to do, he’d been watching for twenty minutes. What had he gone and asked that for?

Bailey looked up at the sky.

“You state what position you’re trying out for,” he said, “and then we test you.”

“Oh, right,” James said, as if he’d just remembered it. Behind him, Evans snorted. “Okay. I’m, er, I want to be Chaser.”

“All right,” said Bailey, and once again the Quaffle came to life. It took all James could muster not to stare at it too long. “You’ll score past the Keeper on the other end, by that goal.”

James looked—Stephen Gould, a sixth year, was hovering over the goal like a hungry hawk. He swallowed.

Once more, he looked back at Sirius, who waved at him.

He could do it.

“Up,” said James to his broom, as his father had taught him years ago. The broom flew into his hand a little shakily, but the wobbles weren’t too terrible for it being his first go…he climbed on, took a deep breath, and nodded at Bailey. Now that he was here, and ready to go, he could just feel the wind on his face, the exhilaration at flying dozens of miles an hour…

Bailey handed James the Quaffle, and James lifted off, tearing forward in an instant. Flying again, this time thousands of feet up, felt _exactly _as good as he knew it would, and it was all he could do not to let out a whoop of excitement, he had to focus now.

The Quaffle zipped this way and that, dodging every time he swooped toward it—it was much harder to follow than James had expected, but he was not going to let it beat him. He matched its every move, keeping it in focus—he almost had it—there were cheers down below! James grinned. He was going to be a Quidditch star, just as he’d always dreamed…

Suddenly, his broom moved.

James tightened his hands, sure it had been just a slip, focused on the Quaffle—his hands reached for it—and his broom moved again. Frustrated, he took his eyes off the enchanted ball to hold it steady, but now it was jolting all over—it was all he could do to hold on!

“No, no,” pleaded James, desperate to finish his tryouts. “Come on!”

He was so distracted, he didn’t notice the Quaffle flying through the air until it was rushing at him. There was a sharp pain—James began to fall—there was a blur—and then nothing.

“James—James, mate, d’you hear me?”

James struggled to focus—there was a blob hanging over him. Vaguely, he noticed that the blob had shaggy hair.

“Oh—oh, right.” The blob reached forward, placed James’ glasses on him…and there was Sirius Black, looking down at him with concern. “James?”

“Hey, Sirius.” James sat up, rubbing his head, which ached like nothing he’d ever felt. “What—what happened?” He gasped. “The Quidditch tryouts!”

“Er…” Sirius cleared his throat. “About that…”

With a sudden flash of shame, James remembered his broom throwing him around like the old Muggle dolls his dad had collected, right before the Quaffle had hit him on the head. “I didn’t make it, did I?”

Behind Sirius, someone was shouting.

James frowned. “What’s that?”

“Let’s go inside,” said Sirius very quickly. “Come on, James, you need something to eat—”

“Jumping James! Jumping James!”

“Oh, no,” Sirius muttered under his breath.

Dreading what he might see, James looked past Sirius to see a group of students, led by none other than Snivellus, shouting “Jumping James” over and over and making bad imitations of James jolting around on his broom.

“Help me up,” said James.

“James—”

“Help me up, Sirius!”

With a sigh, Sirius extended a hand and pulled James to his feet. After wobbling for a few seconds, James walked forward. Abruptly, the chanting stopped.

“Oh, look,” said Snivellus, smirking. “It’s Potter, back from the dead.”

James knew he should’ve felt sad or confused, or else decided to burst into tears. That was probably what Snape wanted him to do. But all he felt was angry.

“You think this is funny, do you?” James crossed his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, actually, I do,” said Snape. “You jumping around like that in the sky was pretty hilarious.” He frowned. “Don’t you think so?”

“You won’t be laughing when I prove you jinxed my broom,” James snapped.

“_I _jinxed your broom?” Snape echoed incredulously. “I wasn’t even there! I was inside, with Pettigrew and Black—where _you _got me sent, isn’t that right?”

He looked at the boys behind him. James recognized some of them as the ones Snape sat with at lunch. He lunged forward, only to be stopped by Sirius.

“Not now, James,” Sirius whispered. “Fight him when everyone isn’t watching, and when you’ve got a better reason.”

“I’d say this is a bloody good reason!” James snapped, but Sirius was right. He couldn’t do it now…but he _could _do something else. Turning to Snape, he fixed him with a glare.

“Maybe you won’t admit you did it,” he said. “But I’ll prove you did, and I’ll get you sent back where you belong!” He nudged Sirius. “Come on, we’re leaving.”

As James and Sirius turned to leave, the voices broke into shouting: “Oy, Jumping James, think there’s a spot for you in the Muggle circus!”

“I _hate _him,” said James. “I hate him more than I’ve hated anyone in my life, and when I’m through with him he’ll wish he’d never come to Hogwarts!”

It was two days later, and James was still fuming. The list of Quidditch players hadn’t been released yet, but he was fairly certain he hadn’t made the team. Whenever he walked past the Slytherin table at lunch, he could hear students whispering behind his back—even some of the Gryffindors laughed at him now.

So much for his plan to become the most popular boy in school.

“Trust me, James, I hate him too,” said Sirius, who sat next to him in the Common Room. They were supposed to be doing Charms homework, but naturally that was the last thing on their minds. “Wish I could throttle him myself, really…”

“No, what we _need _is to get him caught.” James stood and began to pace, thinking aloud. “He jinxed my broom, right?”

“That’s pretty obvious.”

“But you didn’t see it.”

“No, James, I’ve told you,” said Sirius. “I looked all over for him when I got inside, but I couldn’t see the little git anywhere.” He sighed. “Must’ve found someplace where he could do it without being caught.”

“Yeah.” James paced a little more, thought a little more. Then an obvious thought occurred to him. “But this is Hogwarts.”

“Er…yeah,” said Sirius, looking confused.

James winced. “All right, I know how that sounded. But, honestly, Sirius. There are thousands of students, professors…” He gasped. “Ghosts!”

Sirius, as well, jumped to his feet. “Of course! No matter where he hid, some ghost had to have seen him…and who knows where all the ghosts are, at all times?”

James and Sirius grinned identical grins. “Peeves.”

They wandered out into the corridor. It wasn’t quite midnight yet—still about twenty minutes to go, so they were safe. James motioned Sirius a little ways down, turned a corner, and went down another, narrower, corridor, then the great staircase. They had to stop several times and make sure they landed on the right spots, but eventually they were on the ground floor.

“This a good place?” asked James, looking round. They were near the dining hall, but there were several sixth years nearby who sniggered at them.

“No,” said Sirius, giving the sixth years a dark glare. “How about that odd statue?”

James remembered. “Oh, you mean the witch?”

“Yeah, the one we passed the first day of class, when we got lost—that part of the castle’s so weird, no one goes there.” 

James grinned. "Good idea."

After several minutes, the two boys arrived in front of the one-eyed witch. Sirius had been right—this part of Hogwarts was dark and a bit scary, and best of all, they were the only ones there.

“All right,” said James. “Hurry up, I don’t want to get in trouble.”

“No more than we’re already in,” muttered Sirius, but he shouted: “Oy! Peeves!”

Nothing. James’ shoulders slumped. “Well, I knew we were out on a limb here, who knows where he is?”

But then, as if on cue, a cold wind swept over them both, almost knocking James’ glasses off—and there was Peeves the Poltergeist, cackling down at them from above.

“Well, well, well!” he hooted, and James and Sirius made violent shushing motions that did absolutely nothing to make him be quiet. “Pottie and Black, out on a midnight stroll!”

“You idiot,” said James, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s not even midnight yet.”

“’Not even midnight yet,’” said Peeves in a horrible imitation of James’ voice. “Maybe not—but I know you two! You’re troublemakers if I’ve ever seen any, and if I didn’t know better I’d wager you’ll both be expelled by the end of the term.” He cocked his ghostly head at Sirius. “I bet dear Mummy’d like that, wouldn’t she?”

Sirius’ face contorted, and he lunged forward faster than James could grab him. “Why, you piece of—”

“Hey!” James seized the back of Sirius’ shirt and yanked his friend back. “Remember what we’re doing here, all right?” He wheeled on Peeves, who had moved around behind them as Sirius lunged for him. “And _you _mind your own business!”

Peeves cackled and spun away. “And why is Pottie out here at all?”

“Because…” James sighed. “Severus Snape jinxed my broom during Quidditch trials, and that’s why I didn’t make the team.”

“O-ho!” Peeves turned and floated back towards them, laughing. “So you’re bitter, are you? Angry?” He swept down to hover inches from James’ face. “Sad? Is poor little Pottie _sad?”_

“No,” James snapped. “What I want is to _prove _is that it was Snape who jinxed my broom.”

“Aaaah! So you don’t know for certain, then?”

James and Sirius looked sideways at each other, both wondering how to respond. James was liking this less and less by the minute, but he pressed on.

“No, I _know,” _said James, “not because I saw it, but because Sirius saw him disappear when he went back inside. Seconds later, my broom acted up…and when I woke up, he was there.”

“O-ho!” said Peeves again. “I think I know. So, you think that since I’m a ghost of Hogwarts, I saw him, did I?”

“Not you, exactly,” Sirius chimed in, “but one of you. Us students can’t go everywhere…but _you _can.”

Peeves floated away from them, stroking his ghostly chin. “Now, now…_this _is interesting. The two most unpopular students in the entire school come to me, just days after an accident that made you the laughingstock of—”

“Oh, shut it, it’s not _that _bad,” James cut in. “Careful what you say, we’re only unpopular _now.” _

“Whatever you say,” said Peeves, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. “So…you come to _me, _resident troublemaker of Hogwarts, to ask whether I saw another student? What if I were to tell you that such things are forbidden by the Headmaster?”

“They are not,” said Sirius. “You just made that up.”

“All right, so I did,” sulked Peeves. “I have to have a little fun, you know. As for little Snape—”

They were interrupted by a low growl.

James and Sirius spun around. There behind them, hunched low on the ground, was…was…James gasped. An acromantula, a terrifying monster he’d only seen in his mum’s old storybooks—like a giant spider, it was, the size of an extremely large dog. There were pincers at the end of its eight, hairy legs, sharp teeth, and eight beady eyes. Acromantula, he knew, had been created out of the Dark Arts eons ago, and lived in forests on the other side of the world, devouring babies where they slept and generally wreaking havoc for all wizards.

And this one was _here. _In the castle. In Hogwarts.

“Uh-oh!” shrieked Peeves. “Pottie and Blackie are in danger—better run!”

And before James and Sirius could say a word, Peeves the Poltergeist was soaring off into the night.

“Uh…” James glanced at his friend. “Sirius?”

“Wands out,” said Sirius, who was staring straight ahead, his face white. “What—what does Nibley say about this sort of thing?”

“Er…” James racked his brain, but all he could see was the monster in front of him. “Er, don’t drop your guard?”

“That’s _all _you remember?”

“Well, I dunno, can _you _recall anything?”

The acromantula took several steps forward—if it could be called that—along the tile. James and Sirius edged back. It took another step—

“Well, it’s been a nice time knowing you,” said James shakily, raising his wand.

“L-likewise,” Sirius stammered, raising his.

The acromantula lunged—

“Furnunculus!”

Later, James reckoned he should’ve known the voice, high and soft—but it was much louder than usual, and anyway at that moment something wonderful happened: the acromantula gave a horrid shriek, curling in on itself as strange marks erupted all over its body.

And behind it appeared the speaker: Remus Lupin.

“Quick!” said Remus. “Come on, do something, it’s not dead yet!”

His voice jolted James into action.

“Petrificus Totalus!” he shouted, pointing his wand at the acromantula. The creature froze for several seconds, and James began to lower his wand—but then it moved again, legs twitching.

“Petrificus Totalus!” said Sirius, and this time it worked; the acromantula, attacked by three spells in a minute, was unable to fight back and fell back, motionless on the floor of the tunnel.

For several seconds James and Sirius froze, staring at Remus.

“Did you just—” James gasped.

“Why—” Sirius stammered.

“I think the correct expression is _thank you,” _said Remus…but he was almost smiling, James thought, so he couldn’t think up a retort at that moment.

The three boys stared down at the acromantula, too shocked to speak or move. And then, from behind them—

“What’s all the bloody NOISE about?”

“Filch,” gasped James. Argus Filch was infamous for his cruelty toward students who were out of bed past midnight…never mind the reason. If he found them here…

“Oh, you two are useless,” snapped Remus. “Run!”

And, with the acromantula in front of them and Filch behind, James and Sirius didn’t have to be told twice. They sprinted away down the corridor, gasping for breath, and didn’t stop until Filch’s voice had disappeared altogether. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I slipped into a little bit of Tolkien style when I was describing the acromantula, but oh, well.


	9. Chapter Nine: The Whisper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James, Sirius, and Remus try to figure out how the Acromantula got into the castle; Peter Pettigrew complicates things; the three boys struggle to get along; and James makes a very important discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, things are *really* moving along now. Let me know what you think in the comments!

After they had run all the way down the corridor, up all the twisting, shifting stairs, and arrived back in front of the passage to Gryffindor Tower, the three boys stopped, gasping for breath and trying to process everything they had just seen.

“What—” Sirius gasped. “Why—”

“An—an _acromantula,” _stuttered James. “What was it doing here? I thought there were none of them anywhere in England!”

“Well, clearly both of you were wrong,” said Remus, who was looking the most frightened James had ever seen him. “There was one. It almost got you. _My _question is—” He cast a quick look around. “Well, we’re a lot of fools, just standing here. Come on!”

“Oh, right,” said James, giving Sirius a look that he hoped meant _he knows how to sneak around too _and not _let’s go to bed, I’m the most terrified I’ve ever been in my life. _Together, James, Sirius, and Remus moved around the corner and into a small closet that was sitting there.

“All right,” said Remus. “Now what were you two doing down there?” He crossed his arms. “Getting into _more _trouble, I assume.”

“Why do you always assume the worst?” Sirius demanded.

“Because you’re _always _in trouble,” retorted Remus. 

Sirius glanced sideways at James. “That’s a fair point.”

“Anyway,” said James, tired of the bickering, “we weren’t getting into trouble, Remus. It has to do with Quidditch tryouts.”

“Oh,” said Remus, suddenly looking more interested. “You mean…what everyone’s been mocking you about for the last three days, then?”

There was a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. Yes, thought James irritably, that had to be the _one _time Remus Lupin showed a sign of humor, didn’t it?

“Yeah,” he snapped, “and whatever you’ve heard, it’s not right. Severus Snape jinxed my broom.”

One of Remus’ eyebrows shot up, but that was all. “I’m not surprised.”

Sirius frowned. “You’re not?”

“No, I can’t stand him,” said Remus. “I’ve tried to like him, especially since he always seemed like a good student and you were, you know, incurring the wrath of every professor—”

“Oh, I like that phrase,” said James. “We should put it on our wall.”

Remus shot him a look. “Anyhow. I tried, but he’s a nasty piece of work, isn’t he? And all too interested in me, too…he’s always lurking around, trying to figure out what I’m up to.”

“Well, so are we,” said James. “And so is everyone. That’s no surprise.”

“Don’t start asking me,” snapped Remus. “I miss class because I get sick easily, that’s all, and if you start peppering me with questions, I’ll have to go to bed!”

James and Sirius both raised their hands in surrender.

“We weren’t going to,” said Sirius.

“Oh.” Remus relaxed, his shoulders slumping in relief, and an actual smile threatened to show again. “Oh, all right. Thanks, I suppose.”

They stood there for several seconds, not knowing what to say.

“So,” Remus said at last, “Snape.”

“Oh, right,” said James, who had been thinking about how many things he and Sirius could accomplish if they had Remus’ clear head to help them. “So, Snape jinxed my broom, but no one saw it happen.”

Remus sighed. “Oh, I should’ve known. Then, how did you know he jinxed it at all?”

“Because,” said James, “he was on the field before I tried out, he got me to send him back inside, and according to Sirius he took off as soon as he stepped back into the castle.”

Sirius nodded. “That’s exactly what happened. I couldn’t figure out where he went.”

“That sounds fair,” said Remus. “But then, why go down to the gnome? That’s a pretty suspicious place to be. Unless anyone knew your _perfectly _innocent motives—”

“We’re proving someone wrong,” said Sirius defensively. “It’s justice.”

“It’s also suspicious.”

“We were talking to Peeves, you arrogant git,” Sirius snapped. “We’ve asked around, and no one alive saw Snape—but then, ghosts can go into all sorts of places—”

He was interrupted by a groan from Remus.

“Oh, you idiots,” said Remus. “You do know what Peeves is like, don’t you?”

“Of course we do,” said James, “but then, we’re troublemakers just like him, aren’t we? He should be fantastic company.”

“_That _was your logic? It’s a miracle you’ve survived at Hogwarts as long as you have! _Everyone _knows that Peeves just likes getting students into trouble, and you two must’ve been quite a target for him.” Remus shook his head. “It’s almost funny. There happened to be an acromantula down there, you two go wandering right in its vicinity—”

“But we still don’t know _why,” _said Sirius. “How could it get in the castle?”

“I was thinking about that, too,” said Remus with a frown. “You’re sure it wasn’t anything you two did?”

“Oh, come on, what’ve we told you? You think because we show up late to class and screw over Quidditch tryouts that we’d be the reason a _giant bloody spider _showed up?”

Remus sighed. “Fair point. Maybe I am being a bit too judgmental. But you have to admit, I have my reasons.”

“Speaking of the acromantula,” said James, “how’d you know we were there?”

“Well,” said Remus dryly, “you weren’t in bed. Again. For the third night in a row. I thought I’d go out and shout at you to come in…but you weren’t in the Common Room either. Eventually I heard voices—”

“You heard _voices?” _James glanced at Sirius. “I didn’t think we were being that loud!”

“You were,” said Remus, who was still managing to keep a straight face but looked as though he was enjoying this a bit too much. “Because I heard you, and that explains the rest, doesn’t it?”

“Actually, no,” said Sirius, “it doesn’t. How’d you know that spell, furunculi or something like that—”

“Furnunculus.”

“Yeah, Furnunculus. How’d you know that?”

“Come on, it’s just a spell,” said Remus. “Can’t you accept that I saved your lives and move on?”

“I’ve never heard it before,” James chimed in.

“And I have,” said Sirius, looking at Remus pointedly, “because I grew up under two people who just _love _the Dark Arts.”

Remus’ eyes went wide.

“You think _that’s _what I’m up to? Practicing the Dark Arts?”

James shrugged. “People have mentioned it—they think it’s why you miss class every so often.” He crossed his arms. “And unless you can prove you don’t, we’ve got no reason to trust you.”

“Fine.” Remus sighed. “First of all, it’s not a Dark spell. People think it is, because they’re suspicious of everything Dark these days, but it’s not—it’s a spell that causes only mild pain, so it can be used in self defense.”

“Good, but not enough,” said James. “How do _you_ know it?”

“Because…” Remus sighed. “Listen, I’m pureblood, but I live in a rough part of the city—it’s more remote, closer to magical creatures and things like that. My dad had to fight off a werewolf once…and then I decided I’d learn how to do it, just in case he or my mum couldn’t.”

“Oh.” Sirius sighed. “All right, then.”

“Yeah, sorry we doubted you,” said James. “We’re just a bit…” He laughed, just to clear some of the tension. “We’re just a bit shaken up, that’s all.”

“Yeah, I get it. I really do, but…” Remus leaned in closer. “We need to get to the bottom of this. Why was there an Acromantula in Hogwarts at all?”

“Well,” said James, “I’ve been thinking about that a lot, and we have two possibilities. Either it got in by itself, or else—”

“And if there are any more students out of bed I’ll take them to the Headmaster myself!” Filch’s voice reached them from downstairs, and all three boys stood straight up.

“We’ll continue this tomorrow,” said Sirius.

“I completely agree,” said Remus. “For now, let’s just get to bed and forget about it.”

“Yeah, just hurry!” said James, pushing them out of the closet—they could hear Filch, and several others, coming up the stairs. Quickly, they ran to the portrait, muttered the password, and slipped inside before anyone could see them.

But as it turned out, they couldn’t continue immediately the following morning, because the first thing after breakfast, Professor McGonagall gathered all of the Gryffindors together in the Common Room.

“I am sure you are wondering about the commotion last night,” she said, beginning to pace in front of them.

“I didn’t hear a thing,” whispered Peter. “What about you, James?”

“Me either, I was sound asleep,” said James, ignoring the muffled laughter from Sirius behind him.

“For those of you who are unaware, an acromantula was found in the lower levels of the castle last night,” McGonagall continued, looking each and every student in the eye as she passed. Gasps filled the room, students turning to whisper to each other. “There is nothing to fear at the present, because something very curious happened—the acromantula was motionless, and covered in boils.”

“All right, James,” said Remus. “What’s your theory?”

For one moment James wondered why Remus was asking him _now—_then he realized that the three of them would stand out if they kept looking up, instead of whispering to each other like the other students. Also, because everyone was distracted, no one would hear him if he said something very secretive.

“Either it got in, like I said last night,” James whispered, “or else someone brought it in on purpose.”

“On purpose?” echoed Remus. “Are you sure?”

“I mean, it’s possible,” said Sirius, “but who would do that?”

“Well,” said James, “Sirius, d’you remember the day I met you?”

Sirius grinned. “Of course, you stumbled into Borgin and Burkes and we started chatting about the Hand of Glory.”

“Well, right before that I’d gotten lost—it was my first time using the Floo Network and I took a wrong turn, and some _man _approached me…he was scruffy-looking, and carrying a handbag, which I thought was a bit odd. He noticed me staring at him and got suspicious—called me a thief, and asked me if _Dumbledore _had sent me—”

But before he could get any further, McGonagall interrupted him.

“Clearly, someone else found the creature first, and used the Furnunculus charm and the Freezing charm. And it is entirely possible that that someone could have been a student.”

James looked back up in time for McGonagall to meet his eyes—he was terrified, of course, but held her gaze coolly, pretending that he was only curious about what she was about to say. At long last, she moved on.

“It is of the utmost importance that we get to the bottom of this. Acromantulas are incredibly dangerous, and they are not supposed to be anywhere near Hogwarts! If any of you knows who performed the charm, I invite you to come forward.”

Naturally, there was only silence.

“Very well. It’s also possible that it could be someone from any of the other Houses as well, or not a student at all, but we must address all the possibilities. And until we find the answer, no student is allowed near the place where the acromantula was found—that is to say, by the one-eyed witch near the South Passage. Failure to obey will have…consequences.” McGonagall walked back toward the door. “That is all. I hope all of you have a splendid day.”

And with that, everyone went back to normal.

“So,” said Sirius, “you think this person is responsible for bringing in the acromantula?”

“I don’t know,” said James. “It’s just a theory.”

“Well, for now it’s all we’ve got,” said Remus, getting up. “And we need to get to class.”

“Hey!” protested Sirius. “We were getting somewhere!”

“And you won’t get anywhere if you get kicked out of school for refusing to go to class. Come on! We can talk it over at lunch.”

“Talking it over” at lunch proved to be more difficult than they had anticipated, as well as talking it over in class, and even in their dormitory—largely because Peter Pettigrew still insisted on following James and Sirius everywhere. James had never been bothered by this, he really liked that at least someone seemed to understand his and Sirius’ budding genius—but now he was only going to get in their way. And naturally, they couldn’t _tell _him what had happened—Peter was a loyal friend, but terrible at keeping any kind of secret. The news would be out in minutes.

“So, James,” said Peter excitedly, for the twelfth time, racing to catch up with them after Potions. “James, Sirius! Wait for me!”

James sighed, preparing himself, and turned around. It was almost a week later, and thanks to Peter and a number of increasingly inquisitive classmates, they hadn’t gotten anywhere.

“So—so, that acromantula! What d’you think? You think it’s real?”

Remus was walking several paces ahead, but he looked back at James and sliced a hand across his throat.

“Er, yeah, I dunno,” said James. “Listen, they’ve got it taken care of, why don’t we get some lunch?”

“Well, that’s where we’re going, isn’t it?” said Peter.

Remus looked around again.

“Er. Right.” James glanced at Sirius; Sirius gave him a shrug that seemed to say _this one’s on you, James. _“Well, we’re—we’re actually not going to lunch right away.”

“Oh, really? Where are you going then?”

“We’re—we’re going to, er, take our owls flying,” James improvised wildly.

Remus put his head in his hands.

“They’ve just, well, they’ve been cooped up for weeks,” Sirius added, and James tried to hide his sigh of relief. “We were going to take them outside, just for a bit.”

“Oh,” said Peter, deflating a little. “I don’t have an owl.”

_I’m a genius, _thought James. He’d forgotten that Peter had a toad instead of an owl.

“Yeah, sorry about that, mate,” he said, actually feeling a little bit sorry—he really did like Peter Pettigrew, it was just that they could figure out the acromantula better without him around. “See you later.”

And Peter walked off to the dining hall.

“You idiot,” said Remus, turning around. “_Take our owls flying? _It’s a miracle you remembered he didn’t have an owl!”

“Yeah,” said James with a grin. “Good thing I remembered.”

“We need to go,” said Sirius, grabbing James and Remus’ arms and towing them away. “Where’s there a place we can talk quietly, without being noticed?”

“Library,” Remus said quickly—too quickly, but James didn’t have time to think about it.

“All right, let’s go,” he said, “but if we run into Pettigrew again, we’re doomed.”

“Perfect,” said James once they had seated themselves in a secluded area of the library, behind several bookshelves and with paper and quill in front of them—Remus was the designated writer. “Now, what do we know so far?”

“The acromantula was here,” said Sirius through a mouthful of food. 

“Yes,” said Remus irritably. “’The acromantula was here.’ Wonderful job at stating the obvious.”

James glared at Remus. “If you’re going to work with us, couldn’t you be a little nicer?”

“Well, I’m _trying _to, but you’re the two stupidest first years in the school!”

James’ fingers clenched the table—Sirius did more. His friend leaped to his feet, sending the chair rocking back onto the floor.

“Stupidest--! What d’you know, anyway? Maybe we don’t know what we’re talking about, but at least we’ve got friends. Not like you. No one likes you in any case, so you could stand to be a bit politer if you don’t want anyone to start calling you a monster!”

Remus’ face went white. For a long moment, James and Sirius thought he was going to say something—his right hand clenched on his wand, then unclenched, again and again. But he didn’t draw it, or say anything at all…and then, without a word, he got up, picked up their notes, and walked out of the library.

Slowly, Sirius sat down.

“What’s the matter with you?” James rounded on Sirius, who sat with his arms crossed over his chest. “I know everyone’s been calling us stupid since September, but you didn’t have to call him a monster back!”

“I wasn’t going to let him say it,” Sirius muttered. “Not if I could help it.”

“Well, why d’you care so much anyway? _We _know we’re not stupid, that’s all that matters—”

“Because my _parents _call me that,” said Sirius, and James realized that his friend appeared to be fighting back tears. “They think I’m stupid, they think I’m not as smart as Regulus and especially since I got sorted into Gryffindor they think I’m a disappointment!” He kicked the table. “I’m not letting Remus Lupin call me names, not if I can stop him from doing it.”

James sighed. There were times when he forgot how different he and Sirius were.

“All right,” he said at last. “I understand, Sirius. Well—not really, my parents wouldn’t dare say that to me, but I know people back home who think I’m weaker than them for choosing to go to Hogwarts.”

“They went east, then,” said Sirius darkly. “To the _other _wizarding schools, Durmstrang and the lot.”

James nodded. “Assuming your parents wanted you to go there—”

“They did. I don’t know why anyone thinks it’s so special, not when we’ve got Dumbledore.”

“I dunno.” James looked at the door Remus had left by. “But I think someone needs to go talk to Remus.”

“Not me,” said Sirius sharply. James turned to look at him, and he sighed. “Oh, fine. I s’pose so, it’s not like he knows my parents anyway.”

“No. Besides, what if we hurt _his _feelings?”

“Hurt his feelings? Really?” Sirius frowned. “Well, I guess I did call him a monster. That’d make anybody feel bad…besides, he’s got something fishy about him, I guess…it could’ve been personal.”

“I don’t know how,” said James, “but you’re right. Let’s go.”

But, try though they might, neither James or Sirius found Remus Lupin anywhere. They went throughout they day without seeing him at all—and when it came to dinner, the place where he usually ate was completely empty.

“I dunno, James,” said Sirius, “I’m starting to feel awful about this.”

“Me too,” said James, looking round the hall. “But I don’t know where to look. We’ve checked everywhere—”

But at that moment, Lily Evans happened to come walking past them…without Severus Snape. She had talked to Remus, James realized suddenly. They weren’t friends, but they were at least on speaking terms.

“Lily,” he whispered, nudging Sirius. “Hey! Evans!”

But she kept walking, as if she hadn’t heard him.

James growled in frustration. “Come on, I need your help!”

Evans stopped dead in her tracks. With a sigh, she turned around and walked toward James and Sirius.

“What is it?” she snapped. “I don’t want to talk to _you—” _

“Listen, this isn’t a joke,” said James. “We can’t find Remus Lupin anywhere.”

Now Evans did have the grace to look slightly concerned. “Lupin? Well, he disappears sometimes…” She frowned. “I thought you two didn’t like him anyway.”

“Where’d you hear that?” said Sirius coldly. James looked at him in surprise. “Fine, we understand if _you _don’t care, we’ll ask someone else.”

“I did see him,” said Evans quickly. “Just after lunch, he was headed toward the entrance hall…looked like he was in a hurry, too. I tried to stop him, ask where he was going, but I don’t think he heard me.”

“Entrance hall?” James glanced at Sirius. “But that means he went outside!” He rounded on Evans, furious. “You brat! You saw him going outside, alone, and didn’t think to tell anybody?” 

“I’m worried about him, too, thanks for asking,” Evans shot back. “And I _did _try to stop him—besides, he’s gone out that way before! I didn’t think it was too serious—” Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll bet it was your fault anyway, both of you! If you’re suddenly looking for him, you must have said something, or did something.” She lifted her chin. “Either way, it’s not _my _business. I bet Lupin’s fine, and if he isn’t, you’ve only got yourselves to blame!”

And with that, Evans walked away, running into Snape at the end of the corridor. With almost identical smiles, they went off together—but not before Snape shot them a nasty smile over his shoulder.

“Pieces of work, both of them,” muttered Sirius.

“That’s not our problem,” said James. “Quick. Where would Remus have gone?”

“He can’t have gone into the Forbidden Forest,” said Sirius.

“Can’t he? I know the front gate eventually leads there…”

“The Forbidden Forest? But he wouldn’t!” Sirius put a hand to his mouth. “Merlin’s beard, James, this is really bad. I wish I could take back what I said, I really do—”

“Nothing we can do about that now.” James’ mind was racing. “Listen, should we—should we tell someone?”

“Tell someone? Are you mad? Then we’d have to tell them it’s our fault!”

“Yeah, but…” James sighed. “Remus could really be in danger, Sirius. In _danger! _He could be dying! Who knows what kind of monsters are in the Forbidden Forest?”

“You’re right.” Sirius sighed. “All right. I’ll go find Davey Gudgeon.”

“And I’ll keep looking for Remus,” said James, though he wasn’t sure how he’d find him. “Meet me by dining hall in twenty minutes!”

And they went off in their respective ways. Sirius made for Gryffindor Tower in an instant, shoving aside any student who got in his way. James turned round and round, wondering where to go. They’d checked the classrooms, checked their dormitory, checked the library, checked everywhere Remus should’ve been…there was nowhere left…

But James had to do _something, _at least, so he found himself wandering back down the staircase toward the Charms corridor. Stupid, stupid, he thought, he and Sirius really were a pair of idiots. Sure, Remus had snapped at them—but Sirius had exploded more than he should have, and James had prompted Remus to snap at them in the first place…

There was a glimpse of stone—James looked up, and realized that he was standing in front of the one-eyed witch, right where they’d been attacked last night. His heart racing, he looked all around. But there wasn’t even a spot of blood on the floor, where the acromantula had been killed later that night…

_“Do not come any closer.” _

James jerked at the voice, which seemed to come from all over, and nowhere at once. He turned round and round, and then round again, almost tripping over himself—but he was alone in the corridor.

He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

“Hello?” he called out, trying to keep his voice from shaking. But the voice didn’t respond. Was it gone for good?

There was only one way to find out.

James took a step toward the place where the acromantula had been. Then another…then another…still nothing. That was confusing. Hadn’t it said, ‘do not come any closer?’ Well, he was coming closer…wasn’t he?

Or maybe he’d misinterpreted the direction. The witch was in front of him.

James took a step toward the witch—

_“I told you—no closer!” _

He stopped again, waiting for the inevitable flash of a curse, or for the ground to fall out beneath him…but nothing happened. It was an empty threat.

So he kept walking.

_“I warn you one last time—if you come closer you will be destroyed!”_

“If there’s really any danger,” said James, “then something would’ve happened by now, wouldn’t it?”

_“Leave,” _whispered the voice again—it only seemed to whisper, didn’t it? James didn’t know if it was coming from the witch—her mouth wasn’t moving—but then, enchanted objects could do what they wanted, couldn’t they? _“Leave now, before it is too late!”_

That last sentiment sent a shiver up James’ spine—something really was wrong, but he couldn’t seem to stop his feet from moving. He had to find out—and what if this witch knew what had happened to Remus?

It was too much to risk. He took another step, reaching out his hand—he could touch the statue, and whatever it was guarding—

"_It is too late!" _

Without warning, the ground shook. James stopped in his tracks, reaching for his wand, but he wasn’t fast enough. Tendrils of smoke erupted from the ground, grasping for him with little fingers—sheer terror jolted him into action. He sprang forward, running as fast as he had ever run in his life, running for the staircase and bounding up, two at a time, and then three, leaping over the gap that formed as the stairs shifted, tumbling to his feet, then getting up and sprinting to the portrait in front of the Gryffindor Common Room—today’s was that annoying knight, Sir Cadogan.

“Chocolate Fruitcake!” he shouted, just barely remembering the password in time.

There were several Gryffindors doing homework—they looked up, shocked, as James stumbled inside, gasping for breath, but James didn’t even look at them. He sprinted up to his dormitory, unable to stop. There was one burning thought on his mind, a thought that had started as he fled from the witch but that was only now starting to take shape, that since he was now safe was the only thing in his brain, begging to be let out—

He seized the door handle and threw himself into his room. “Sirius! Sirius!”

Sirius looked up. He was sitting on his bed—and sitting next to him was Remus Lupin.

“Er—er—Remus,” James stuttered in shock.

“James, I’ve got to apologize,” said Remus, sliding off the bed and standing up. “I already said this to Sirius—and, well, Peter and Kingsley aren’t in yet so we can say what we like. I was an absolute ass to you both, I didn’t know what I was saying, and I thought that I would spite you by running away for most of the day and the night. Sirius has apologized too, he feels awful—”

“Yes, I know that already,” said James, “and Remus, I’m touched, I’m completely sorry as well, but we don’t have time for that at the moment.”

Sirius stood up as well. “Does this have to do with just why you couldn’t meet us?”

“Yes,” said James, shutting the door. “Remus, do you know a spell that makes sure people can’t hear you?”

“Of course, I’m surprised you don’t.” Remus pointed his wand at the door. “Muffliato.”

“Oh, I’m a bloody idiot,” said Sirius, rolling his eyes. “_Muffliato?”_

“Shut it,” said James, sharper than he’d intended. “Listen, we haven’t got much time—like Remus said, Peter and Kingsley are gone, but I don’t know for how much longer, and this might just be the most important thing you’ve heard all day, and well, here it is.”

Sirius and Remus both sat on the bed, staring at him eagerly.

James grinned. “I know how the Acromantula got in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have finals over the next week and a half and I won't be able to write anything at all, but after that I promise I'll get Chapter Ten up!


	10. Chapter Ten: The Secret Passage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James tells Sirius and Remus about his adventure; Professor Rookwood teaches two very important lessons; Snape is embarrassed; the four boys come to a turning point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This, as you will see, is another important chapter. Let me know what you think!

“So, let me see if I understand,” said Remus, after James had finished the whole story. “You went back to the same place where the Acromantula attacked you—looking for me, which I really do regret—you heard a _voice, _telling you not to come closer, because you’ve got no common sense at all you went closer, and a…” He frowned. “A mist came out of the ground and chased you up here? Am I getting this right?”

“Listen, I know how it sounds,” said James. “But it all happened! You honestly think I’d make something like that up?”

“Well, I mean, I _believe _you,” said Sirius. “But you still haven’t told us how you know Acromantula got in to begin with.”

“I’m _getting_ to that!” James sat down on his bed, across from Remus and Sirius. “It all has to do with the witch.”

Remus frowned. “The witch?”

“You know,” Sirius chimed in, “the statue? She’s got one eye, has a horrible expression?”

“Oh, of course!” Remus waved a hand. “Go on.”

“I thought she was…_speaking _to me, in a way,” said James. “I couldn’t see anywhere else it could be coming from—‘don’t come closer,’ she kept saying, but nothing happened, so I kept coming closer—”

“Yes, we know you’re an idiot,” said Remus impatiently. “You told us this already.”

“—and then, like I said, the ground started to shake, mist came out of the ground…except it didn’t. Come out of the ground, I mean.”

Sirius and Remus both frowned.

“Just get to it, James,” said Remus. “If it didn’t come from the ground, then where?”

“That’s just it,” said James, “it came from the witch _herself. _The statue opened up, just slightly, to let the mist out.”

Sirius’ eyes widened. “A secret passage!”

James nodded. “Exactly. That’s why we’ve been struggling to figure out how the Acromantula got in, don’t you get it? We kept looking for someone who’d smuggled it in—but no one had to. All anyone had to do was open the passage and let it in!”

“Of course,” said Remus, getting to his feet. “That makes complete sense! Now all we have to do is get into the passage and find the source; our culprit may be at the other end.”

“It’s not that easy,” said Sirius, and they both turned to look at him. “It’s an enchanted statue.”

“Yeah.” James frowned. “So?”

Sirius let out a sigh. “So, obviously, that mist is supposed to kill you—you can see the passage, but can’t get in, because you triggered the trap.”

James suddenly remembered how much Sirius knew about the Dark Arts and enchanted objects. “All right. Then how are we supposed to get in?”

“There’s likely to be a password,” said Sirius, joining the others on his feet. “In most cases there is, the enchantment’s only there in the first place because someone else needs secret access to it—and enchantments are finicky if you let them be. If there isn’t a password, there’ll be a spell that breaks it, but those are less common these days—that would be impossible for any of _us _to get through anyway. So I think it’s safe to assume we’ll need to figure out a password.”

“Password? What password?”

James, Sirius, and Remus all jumped at once—unnoticed by any of them, Peter had just entered their room, his face flushed and excited.

“Oh, we were just talking about Sir Cadogan’s passwords,” said Remus lightly, stepping forward—James breathed a sigh of relief that the cover story wasn’t on him this time.

“Oh,” breathed Peter. “All right, then.” He frowned. “James? I thought you two weren’t friends with Lupin.”

James glanced at Sirius, then back at Peter. “Where’d you hear that?”

“I dunno, I just…” Peter flushed, looking embarrassed. “Never mind, I’m going to bed.”

He climbed into bed and closed the curtain without another word.

James frowned. “Think we should tell him?”

“Tell him?” Sirius spoke in a low voice, so they shouldn’t be overheard. “Are you insane? He’d get the word out in minutes!”

“All right.” James leaned in closer to Remus and Sirius—who knew when Kingsley would be back. “So, what’s our plan? How do we even begin to figure out a password?”

“It could be anything,” said Sirius. “It could be something personal, like the name of a dead relative…or something totally random, like a type of flower.”

James groaned. “That’ll take us months!”

“Maybe not,” said Remus slowly. “Not if we ask the right people.”

“Yeah, right,” said Sirius, “we’re absolutely going to tell all the professors that we found a forbidden passage and are trying to get into it. Brilliant, Lupin, just brilliant.”

Remus sighed. “_Obviously, _we wouldn’t tell anyone _what _we’re doing. We’d just ask, you know…hypothetically.”

“Oh,” said James, who was beginning to understand. “So, we’d ask something like, ‘pardon me, professor, but I was wondering something the other day. If you were trying to figure out a password, how would you do it?’ Like that.”

“Yes,” said Remus, “but more discreetly, I think. That might be too obvious. Anyway who do you think we should ask?”

“Not McGonagall, that’s for sure,” said James. “She’d know what we were up to immediately.”

“Not Slughorn either,” said Sirius. “He doesn’t like me.”

“Is everything about you?”

“No, but—”

“We need to ask someone…someone who likes us,” said Remus, “and who also is an expert.”

“In other words, someone cool,” said Sirius.

Remus rolled his eyes. “No. No, that should never be a reason for—”

“Rookwood,” said James aloud. Sirius and Remus looked at him. “He knows more than Nibley ever did, that’s what everyone’s saying—he’s taught us loads already, and sometimes he demonstrates things we’ve never even heard of. He knows a lot of great wizards. He likes us and goes out of his way to talk to students—but he’s not close friends with the other professors, so most likely he won’t tell on us.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “That actually makes sense. You’re right, James.”

“Also,” Sirius said with a grin, “you’ve got to admit, he’s the coolest professor at Hogwarts.”

Remus groaned into his hands.

“What? He is! Listen, the first week of class we walked inside and all the chairs were on the ceiling—”

“You again!” The door opened and shut with a bang—Kingsley had at last arrived, and he was none too happy. “You know, just for once I think I might be able to show up here and have you three be _asleep, _but I should know better. Naturally, you never go to bed until it’s almost time to get up, and I can’t have any rest!”

“Rookwood, tomorrow,” Remus whispered, and on that note the three boys climbed into bed and went straight to sleep.

As it happened, Professor Rookwood had cooked up a fascinating lesson for the day. James, Sirius, and Remus had been up late talking about the password, and consequently arrived barely in time for class. But curiously, Rookwood wasn’t there—and five minutes later, he still hadn’t shown his face.

“I wonder,” Remus muttered. “What could be keeping him?”

“Too scared of Potter and Black, maybe,” said a voice from behind them. James spun around to see Snape—and Lily—sneering at him from their desk.

“Oh, shut it,” James snapped. “No one cares about you anyway.”

“And they care even less about you. Have you heard how the Gryffindor Quidditch team is doing?”

“No,” said James coolly. He’d tried to avoid hearing if the team had been winning or not—and the whole business with the Acromantula and Remus Lupin had been distracting enough. “Actually, I haven’t given it any thought.”

“They’ve been doing terribly,” said Snape with a smirk. “Too bad you didn’t make the team, you’d have done wonders for them…or would you? A malfunctioning broom doesn’t say a lot about your flying skill.”

“You—” James stuttered,

“Now, Mr. Snape,” said Rookwood’s disembodied voice, from…somewhere in the room. “I wouldn’t make any unfounded accusations, if I were you.”

Snape, James, and Sirius all gasped aloud. As James watched, searching for the source of the voice, something shimmered in front of them, and their professor appeared, grinning at them from where he stood mere inches away. All the students fell silent, staring at him in shock.

“Cool, Professor!” Sirius said at last, interrupting the silence. Remus let out a groan.

“It is indeed a cool spell, Mr. Black,” said Rookwood, looking down at Sirius kindly. “I don’t believe it will be too difficult for you to learn.”

Sirius’ jaw dropped.

“Class, might I have your attention!” called Rookwood loudly, moving away from their table to stand in the aisle as the entire class turned in their seats to look at him. “Today’s topic is the clever spell I have just demonstrated to you: the Smokescreen spell. Can anyone tell me its origin?”

Evans’ hand shot up, as did Remus’—Rookwood’s eyes found Remus first.

“Yes, Mister Lupin?”

James and Sirius shot each other grins as Lily pouted behind them.

“Helga Hufflepuff discovered it,” said Remus, “and often used it to protect her own Muggleborn students from Salazar Slytherin, before he left the school. Sometimes the Hufflepuff students were revealed by another spell, but usually it kept them hidden and safe.”

“An excellent answer,” beamed Rookwood, and Evans slouched further into her seat. “Five points to Gryffindor—and there’s something you’re not quite right on. It was Slytherin’s followers who attacked the students, not Slytherin himself—he disliked the Muggleborn students, but not so much as to try to harm them.”

“I knew that,” muttered Sirius. “My mum fairly worships Slytherin.”

“Of course she does,” whispered James out of the corner of his mouth. “But then why didn’t you raise your hand?”

“Didn’t think of it fast enough.”

“To cast the Smokescreen Spell,” said Rookwood, “one must begin not with an incantation or wand movement, but with _intent. _Do you remember what I told you on the first day of class?”

“Knowledge is power,” James and Sirius recited along with the rest of the class. Professor Rookwood asked them this at least once a week.

“Correct,” said Rookwood with a grin. “And so what you must know is that if you don’t _believe _you can become invisible, no right amount of correct pronunciation will do it for you. Even Merlin, the first time he performed this spell, was so unprepared that he left his eyes perfectly visible to everyone! Watch.”

Rookwood raised his wand, swirled it in a rotating motion, and said, loudly and clearly, “Fumos!” At first, nothing happened—then, a protective smoke covered him from view, from his toes to the top of his head…but not all of him disappeared. Two eyes were left floating in midair.

The entire class roared with laughter.

“And so,” said Rookwood, slowly materializing once more, “you have to believe that you can disappear—otherwise the entire gamble is worthless! To really demonstrate this…well, I think I need a test subject. Can I have a volunteer?”

Every student developed a sudden interest in the floor.

“Severus Snape,” Rookwood announced. James spun around excitedly, just in time to see Snape’s face turn even paler and sallower than its usual pale and sallow shade. “I think you’d be an excellent volunteer. Come forward—come forward!”

Despite the fact that he had not actually volunteered, Snape—to the amusement of James, Sirius, and Remus—slid out of his chair and slouched up to Rookwood’s side. Several Gryffindors snickered behind their hands.

“Now,” said Rookwood, “do you have your wand?”

“Of course, sir,” said Snape, barely loud enough to be heard. Funny, thought James, now that _he_ was being embarrassed he’d lose his cocky edge.

“All right, then. Raise it, like you would in a duel—there you go, excellent. Now—don’t say a word—but rotate your wand counterclockwise, a rotation and a half. No, your movement is too narrow, loosen the elbow a bit—ah! There, very good.” Rookwood gestured to the rest of the class. “Practice with him. Rotate your wands exactly like that.”

Rookwood usually did this to them, and James was used to it by now, though he’d never expected it before coming to Hogwarts—wand movement had suddenly become very important, and it wasn’t a trick. Once Peter had rotated his wand too many times while performing the Stunning Spell and knocked himself backward instead.

“Now,” said Rookwood once they’d practiced enough, “speak the incantation, Fumos, several times. Without the wand for now, if you please.”

“Fumos,” said Snape, and instantly his cheeks turned bright red. Sirius chortled.

“No,” said Rookwood, “not ‘foo-mos.’ _Fyoo-mos. _It has to do with the idea of ‘fumes,’ because that’s what is being used to disguise you—that’s why it’s the Smokescreen Spell.”

“Please tell me you understood that before he explained it,” muttered Remus over his shoulder.

“Of course,” said James, instantly trying to look less surprised.

“Fumos,” said Snape again, even quieter, though he said it correctly.

Rookwood gestured, and the class began reciting, trying over and over to get the word perfect, for several minutes.

“Excellent, excellent,” said Rookwood at last, quieting them. He turned to Snape with a quick smile. “Now, Mr. Snape. I daresay you’re ready!”

Snape did not look ready. Nonetheless, beaming to himself, Rookwood took several paces forward and turned around to watch.

Snape held out his wand, closing his eyes, as if thinking to himself, and at last opened his eyes, looking decidedly more confident. He brought up his wand, standing tall, moved it perfectly, and said clearly: “Fumos!”

Without warning, the ground before Snape seemed to explode. A large cloud of dark smoke shot up straight like a geyser around him, sparks flying towards the students nearest to him. Several students began to cough, and the smoke still billowed.

At last, the clouds began to clear, and Severus Snape was left standing in the center of the aisle, long hair sticking straight up and face and hands black with soot.

The entire class burst into laughter, James and Sirius the loudest of them all. Even Remus, usually so quiet during demonstrations, cracked a smile. The only one left silent—besides several Slytherins—was Evans, of course, but no one cared about her.

And Professor Rookwood was smiling mischievously, as if he’d known all along that that would happen.

“Well,” he said, “that went about as well as I’d expected.” He clapped his hands. “All right, children! Get to work!”

Half an hour later, the classroom was full of Gryffindors and Slytherins with floating hands, burned faces, and whitened clothing(that was the third kind of effect). Remus and Evans were the closest to success—during Remus’ last trial, the only thing left floating was one of his fingernails, and Evans had almost come as close. James and Sirius, as usual, were struggling to keep up with the rest of the class and faring almost as badly as Snape had, but for once they were having fun with it.

“All right, all right,” said Rookwood, and they began to pack up. “Once again, there is no assigned reading for Monday, but remember to _practice! _I’ll be a failure of a teacher if you show up with black noses!”

James elbowed Sirius, and then Remus in turn. “Come on! It’s time!”

“Yes, we know,” Remus whispered. “Just don’t be so bloody obvious about it!”

Slowly, as the other students left the classroom, the three boys wandered up to Rookwood’s desk. The professor was sitting with his head down, running through some papers.

Sirius cleared his throat. “Professor?”

Rookwood actually jumped—for their fearless professor, that seemed strange. “Ah! Boys! Didn’t see you there.” He laughed. “What can I help you with? Questions about the lesson?”

“No, sir,” said Remus. “We’ve actually got a, er, personal problem.”

“Personal problem?” Rookwood frowned. “And you wanted my help? Why not go to the Headmaster?”

“Because it might have to do with the Dark Arts,” said Sirius.

“Mr. Black,” said Rookwood, something of a dark look in his eye—they’d expected this, everyone knew what the Blacks were into. “Yes, I might’ve guessed this.”

“Don’t think anything suspicious,” said Sirius quickly. “It’s just a bit silly, really…”

“It’s about passwords,” said Remus.

“Passwords?” Rookwood frowned.

“Yes,” said Sirius. “You know, when there’s an enchantment on something, and you want to try and break it, but you don’t know where to start?”

“Well, of course _I _know that…” Rookwood’s eyes narrowed. “But how would _you _know it?”

“Well, it’s—it’s not anything terrible,” said James, his heart racing wildly. “It’s just that, er, Sir Cadogan—he’s the portrait in front of Gryffindor Tower—he keeps changing the passwords during the day, and most nights we can’t get in until close to midnight.”

James didn’t look at Remus. He didn’t want to feel humiliated.

Sirius, beside him, caught his breath. They were in for it now.

“Ahh, this explains everything!” exclaimed Rookwood, and all three boys—discreetly—jumped. “Not only the problem, but also why you two,” he nodded at James and Sirius, “have such a hard time arriving on time. Now I won’t blame you for it, when you can hardly get into your dormitories before curfew.”

James let out a breath. He couldn’t believe his ears.

Rookwood looked between them. “Have any other students had problems with this?”

“Peter Pettigrew,” said Sirius, “and Kingsley Shacklebolt, our roommates—sometimes they get back later than we do.”

“Pettigrew was also late,” said Rookwood under his breath. He stood up. “Well, boys, I am going to help you with this.”

James, Sirius, and Remus stood up straighter. There was something about Rookwood that made him want to step up his game a little, thought James.

“I could, of course, come to Gryffindor Tower and demand that this disobedient portrait stop fooling around,” said Rookwood.

“Then why don’t you?” said Sirius, as if to test the waters.

James elbowed him sharply. They couldn’t have Rookwood traipsing up there, or his entire cover story would come crashing down around them…and then they’d have to explain why they were really interested in passwords and enchantments.

“Because I want you to learn it on your own,” said Rookwood, and James heaved another sigh of relief. “Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said in class? Yes, I tell you about knowledge, but after that comes preparation. You need to be prepared, Mr. Black!”

“Of course, sir,” said Sirius, no doubt straining to hide a grin.

“Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Enchantments. They’re tricky, aren’t they? And, of course, that door is enchanted to keep anyone from getting in unless they know the password. But you see, my friends, the key isn’t in _passwords. _They use them for you, but you’re students, you’ve got to think that passwords work on everything. You can’t know the inner workings of Hogwarts—it’s not allowed. And it’s considered very, very dangerous when a student does.”

James swallowed.

“But the thing here is that even the portraits are enchanted—it’s not passwords that are important, it’s something in plain sight. A spell. Naturally, Headmaster Dumbledore, and Headmaster Dippet before him, enchanted all the doors to all the towers so that they are controlled by magical objects. For Gryffindors, it’s a portrait, for Ravenclaws, a riddle.”

“Of course,” said Sirius. “Why didn’t I realize that?”

“Dumbledore isn’t the only man in the castle who knows the spell to control the door,” said Rookwood with a daring smile. “Search, and you’ll find it—and remember, boys, spells will get you through life…not the boring magic passwords of childhood stories.”

“All right, forget cool,” gushed Sirius hours at lunch. “Rookwood’s the most brilliant professor in the school!”

“Sirius, just because he told us the right answer doesn’t mean we should listen to him,” said Remus impatiently.

James shook his head several times, trying to comprehend the sheer insanity of that remark. “What in the name of Merlin’s wand does _that_ mean, Remus Lupin?”

“I’d have thought you’d figured it out, but then I remembered that you and Sirius barely even know what rules are,” said Remus coolly. “Obviously, it was a cover story—and it was surprisingly good, James—but we told him we were having trouble with a portrait, which no matter how annoying they are, _all _Gryffindors are expected to listen to, and he told us to go around the _Headmaster _and learn a secret spell that is literally forbidden to the Gryffindor Head Boy and Girl. Yes, he told us something none of us knows and something we all should have realized, but you have to admit it. Rookwood’s a genius, but he’s also, to put it bluntly, recklessly stupid.”

“Remus, if you weren’t our friend, we’d kill you,” said James.

“I know,” Remus sighed.

“Forget the password thing,” said Sirius. “At least we can move on now. We need a spell—a spell that can show us what that…” Evans passed by behind them, and Sirius lowered his voice. “What our little friend is hiding.”

“Good save,” muttered James.

“Where can we find it, though?” Remus asked aloud. “It could be anywhere—any kind of spell. We have to think this through logically.”

“But there’s a problem,” said James. “We’re first years! We hardly know any spells at all.”

“Well then, we’ll simply have to find them,” said Remus, standing up. “There’s loads of information here, if we only look for it! I’ll tell you what. Let’s all go to the library after Potions, but separately. We’ll each check out as many books as we can, and go through them together.”

“I guess it’s a start,” said James. “But in the meantime, I’ll be asking as many questions as I can.”

“How’s Jumping James?” shouted someone as they passed by the Ravenclaws. James’ cheeks burned—the nickname still stung, not for any kind of wit—it was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard in his life, a joke of an insult—but because it reminded him that he’d failed in the one area he was supposed to be brilliant at. He could’ve saved the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and they were going down in flames.

“He jumps every time someone mentions Quidditch, that’s for sure!” said a Slytherin.

“Ignore them,” Sirius muttered. “Just ignore them.”

“Maybe today,” James said between clenched teeth. “But one day soon I’m going to take out my broom and show them how stupid they sound.”

The three boys tried, over the next few weeks, to find any kind of spell that might help them—revealing information, destroying objects, persuading objects. But for days, nothing worked. For days, they stayed up until all hours, tolerated Snape’s insults toward their exhausted appearances, suffered through exams, and studied. But there was still nothing.

And then, very early in the morning of the first of December, Sirius stumbled on something that changed the entire look of their situation.

“Look,” he said. “I’ve got something.”

“What—what?” said James, who had half fallen asleep.

“From a book?” asked Remus.

“No,” said Sirius. “From an old letter of my mum’s.”

Intrigued, James and Remus shook themselves awake and gathered close to Sirius.

“It’s from the beginning of the year, when I got…” Sirius sighed. “When I got sorted into Gryffindor, and they were furious.”

James leaned over to read the beginnings of it. “’Sirius, our firstborn son, I never wanted it to come to this but it would be better if Regulus was an only child.’” He looked up. “All right, that’s awful.”

“Yeah, we all know that,” Sirius snapped. “Forget that, look here!” He pointed past several long, ranting paragraphs, close to the end. “’How could you ignore the House of Slytherin? Your father, during his years at school, won the respect of all the other Slytherins when during his third year he taught himself the Vanishing Incantation, “Evanesco,” and used it on a fellow Gryffindor’s broom during Quidditch, winning Slytherin the Cup.”

“Second, that’s also awful,” said Remus.

“But don’t you see what this means?” said Sirius excitedly. “Vanishing! We can make the statue disappear, and we’ll see what’s behind it!”

“How do you know that’ll work?” asked James.

“I don’t,” said Sirius. “But if my dad did that to a broom, surely with some practice, we can make the witch disappear. Then we’ll get into the passage!”

“No,” said a fourth voice. “You won’t.”

All three boys gasped—but it was just Peter. He had thrown back the curtains in front of Sirius’ bed and stood in front of them, dressed in pajamas with rumpled blond hair and his arms crossed.

“You’ve barely slept the last week,” said Peter. “Kingsley started ignoring you, but I thought it—it was interesting. So I, I, I eavesdropped.”

That seemed to be the extent of his courage, as he immediately went white.

“Eavesdropped!” Remus got off the bed. “Peter, do you know how serious this is? If anyone finds out, we’ll be thrown out of Hogwarts!”

“But—but they won’t,” said Peter, looking confused. “Find out, I mean.”

“You’ve got a mouth bigger than Snape’s ego,” said James. “We can’t trust you not to blab!”

Peter’s eyes welled up with tears—and then, to their surprise, he seemed to shake it off. He stood up taller, his little face looking angrier than they’d ever seen it.

“Listen, I know what you think about me,” he said. “I know you think I’m stupid, just a tag-along follower, and you can’t trust me with anything because I’m not sharp. But I’ve been by that statue. I saw what happened to you, James.”

James’ mouth fell open.

“Then why the bloody hell didn’t I see you?” he demanded.

“Because you never do,” said Peter. “You never see me—no one does. No one pays any attention to me, and I s’pose it’s worked in my favor, but I’m sick of it! I want to do something actually important for once, and I know that if you vanish that statue, all you’ll see is a wall—and worse, then you really will be thrown out of Hogwarts for vanishing an enchanted object!”

Sirius frowned. “How d’you know we’d just be seeing a wall?”

Peter sighed. “Because I was following you around another time, and there was a ruckus a few corridors down and I went to find out what it was. Turns out Snape and Evans were there being chewed out by Filch for trying to get into the Restricted Section of the library—sure enough, Evans had tried vanishing the door, but in place of the door it was just a wall.”

“Vanishing Spells don’t work on enchanted objects in Hogwarts,” James realized out loud. “Of course! That must be one of Dumbledore’s tricks.”

“Exactly,” said Peter. “See, I’m not as smart as any of you—”

Sirius choked. “You think we’re smart?”

“Well, you’re smarter than me. But anyway…” Now he looked like he was going to cry again. “Anyway, I can’t be smart, so I decided to listen. That’s taught me more than any of you have learned, because you all think you know everything!”

There was a long silence, during which James, Sirius, and Remus all looked at each other. And in that split second, a unanimous decision seemed to be made.

“No, we don’t,” said James. “We didn’t know how brilliant you were, for starters.”

Peter’s eyes widened, a smile threatening to spill out over his face. “What are you—”

“Exactly what you think,” said Sirius with a grin. “Welcome to the club, mate.”

Peter grinned, happy tears spilling out onto his face, and with explosive laughter the three boys took his hand and pulled him onto the bed. Then Peter was laughing, and Sirius was tearing up his mother’s letter, and there were about ten seconds of happy bliss.

And then the curtains were thrown open, again, and they were staring up into Kingsley’s furious face.

“You idiots,” he hissed. “I’ve tried to be patient with you, but it is _four in the morning, _and the next time you wake me up like this the morning of an exam, I’ll tell McGonagall and get you detention for the rest of the year!”


	11. Chapter Eleven: The Forbidden Books

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter learn more regarding the statue; James faces a dilemma; James and Sirius make an important discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait! This chapter was originally supposed to be posted a month ago(when you read it, you'll see why) but I didn't have nearly as much time over Christmas as I wanted. The next one should be up faster.   
Hope you enjoy!

In the days that followed, James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter proved themselves to be the best team of detectives to ever attend Hogwarts. The very next day, they split up on four different tasks: Peter to investigate the statue, Remus to ask McGonagall whether Transfiguration had any effect on enchanted objects, Sirius to scour more of his parents’ letters, and James to hunt around the school grounds for a second entrance into the secret passage in case they couldn’t find a way to get past the witch. These tasks yielded varying results. Sirius found no more important details, Peter got too scared to approach the statue after it spoke once, and James didn’t find any entrances.

Remus was the only one of the group to actually get a definite answer, and it was no. That gave James an idea—as stern as McGonagall was, she seemed to know quite a lot of information. He proposed that they ask her.

The other three immediately shot him down.

“Are you insane?” Sirius said over lunch. “She almost threw us out the first day of class when we showed up late!”

“You wouldn’t get thrown out for coming late the first day,” Remus said without even looking up from a book he’d checked out on enchanted objects. “Even skipping class frequently only gets you docked House points. Stop being dramatic.”

“Sirius has a point,” Remus said.

“Because you’re afraid of her,” James said with a grin.

“No,” Peter said quickly, his face turning red. “She doesn’t _want _to help us. Remus, did she seem like she even wanted to answer you?”

“Yes,” Remus said, “only because I’m a good student. If either of _those _two—” He jerked a thumb at Sirius and James, “asked her, she’d just sigh and tell them to go research their homework. But…” At long last, he set down the book. “But she sounded a bit like she was talking down to me. I’m sure she would have given a longer answer to even a third year student.”

Sirius scoffed. “Absurd.”

“Just don’t say that to her face.”

“See what I’m talking about?” Peter said. “Why don’t we ask Rookwood? He’s got lots of knowledge, and he loves his students.”

“We’ve already asked Rookwood, and he helped us,” James said. “But if we ask him again, he might get suspicious.”

“I’m already suspicious of him,” Remus said. “He told us, as _first years, _to try and break a spell that _Dumbledore _put in place.”

“Oh, get over it,” Sirius said. “You’re the only one here who even cares about rules.”

Remus shrugged. “That’s a fair point.”

“Anyway,” said James, desperate to get back on topic, “Rookwood might be the coolest teacher in the school, but he’s still a _teacher. _And if we start asking him loads of questions about enchanted objects and spells, eventually he’ll get suspicious of us.”

“But why McGonagall?” Remus asked, leaning forward. “I understand she seems the most knowledgeable, but—”

“I don’t want to ask her any more than you do, but she did give you an answer….although,” James said, just realizing this for himself, “I suppose she didn’t explain _why _Transfiguration has no effect on enchanted objects?”

Remus shook his head.

“She doesn’t even teach much about spells to begin with,” Sirius said. “Sure, Transfiguration does deal with objects…”

“It’s not _just _that.” Remus rolled his eyes. “You really don’t know anything about Transfiguration, do you? No wonder she dislikes you two.”

“Flitwick!” Sirius exclaimed, skipping right over Remus’ insult. “Let’s ask him!”

“Of course!” James felt like an idiot. “He literally teaches Charms, why don’t we ask him?”

“I think I should do it,” Peter said.

James opened his mouth; then he remembered their conversation from last night and shut it.

“You three have already been asking around about…things that probably aren’t allowed,” he continued. “I’m usually quiet and don’t know what I’m doing, so Flitwick won’t suspect me.”

“Excellent!” Remus clapped him on the back and got up. “We’ve got Potions in a minute, we’d better head out—tomorrow’s Charms, why don’t you ask him then?”

“I will,” Peter said.

James couldn’t help but notice their newest friend was grinning, and he nudged Sirius.

“Good thing you made us include you,” Sirius said. “I don’t know where we’d be without you.”

Potions was as insufferable as always, due to the constant presence of Snape, who continued as Slughorn’s favorite student and had a habit of whispering taunts at James when the amicable professor wasn’t looking. Evans was almost as bad. She snickered at every joke that Snape made, and her potions were selected for praise even over Remus’.

“Gryffindors lost again, Potter,” Snape muttered—he had an uncanny ability to talk while barely moving his lips, which James couldn’t seem to replicate. “The Seeker’s positively awful…but maybe it’s better you’re not on the team. If you couldn’t even get control of your own broom—”

“Give it a rest, Snape,” James hissed. “It’s not my fault you screwed with my broom—”

“Mr. Potter,” Slughorn said, turning around, as Remus shot James a glare from across the room. “Is that discussion quite important?”

“No, sir,” James said, “but—“’

He looked over his shoulder. As if by magic, Snape had his head bent over his work.

“Then I expect it won’t happen again. You wouldn’t want to miss any important information, would you?” Slughorn shook his head. “As this is the third time this has happened, I will take five points from Gryffindor.”

James seethed. As usual, Slughorn only managed to hear _him, _and Snape got away scot-free.

One day that was going to change.

The next day, Charms came around, and it was very difficult for any of the four boys to sit still during class. Once, Flitwick even remarked—very innocently—that Sirius was reminding him slightly of a startled rabbit, which resulted in his three friends simultaneously turning to glare at him.

But soon, the hour was up. James, Sirius, and Remus stood up, packed their bags, and all made sure Peter was looking at them. James wouldn’t admit it, but he was nervous—Peter was an anxious, jittery sort of boy. What if he slipped up?

But Peter seemed in control as he nodded at them.

“Let’s get out of here,” Sirius muttered.

If they stayed around, things would get suspicious, James realized. Quickly, he walked toward the door and left the classroom, Sirius and Remus right behind him.

He glanced back once to see Peter slowly approaching Flitwick.

“All right,” Remus said when they were just outside. “That was our last class. Now we just have to wait.”

It was the longest forty minutes of James’ life. They had all agreed that they couldn’t possible, and yet he, Sirius, and Remus were all at a loss for what to do. At first he tried to do some reading for Potions, but after several minutes of reading the same line over and over again he quickly lost interest and shut it. Sirius was rifling through the same letters from his parents that he’d read earlier that day.

James looked at the clock. Ten minutes after two.

Remus set down the book he was currently on, sighed, and picked up another one.

James glanced out the window. Snow was falling softly. He’d always loved the first beginning of winter, but here at Hogwarts he’d seen such wilder things that it held no interest for him.

He looked back at the clock. Fifteen minutes after two.

Peter wasn’t supposed to take _this _long! He was probably asking too many questions…taking forever to explain himself…Flitwick was bound to be suspicious now…

Sirius picked up another letter…

Out of nowhere the door opened, and Peter burst inside.

It was as if a box of firecrackers had been opened. All at once, James, Sirius, and Remus leapt to their feet and began to fire questions at poor Peter.

“How did it go?” asked Sirius.

“Was he suspicious?” asked James.

“How many questions did you ask,” said Remus, who was putting perhaps a little more thought into his inquiry, “did he understand them immediately, and did he give you an answer longer than ‘yes’ or ‘no?’”

“Stop!” Peter squeaked, pushing past them to sit down. “One at a time, please!”

“Right,” said James. “Sorry.”

They crowded round him excitedly.

“All right.” Remus drew out a piece of parchment, a quill, and ink. “What happened?”

“I told him I…well, I didn’t give him an excuse,” Peter began. “Didn’t explain myself, what I wanted…I couldn’t think of anything, really, and I didn’t want to come off as nervous—”

“Excellent,” Sirius said. “That’s always a dead giveaway.”

“—so I just asked him straight off. ‘Professor, I was just wondering, what kind of spell could I use to deal with a very annoying enchanted object?’”

That was risky, thought James…but also extremely daring. Maybe the Sorting Hat had been right to put Peter in Gryffindor after all.

“Not bad,” said Sirius. “I would’ve thrown a lot more praise and flattery in, but then I’m used to talking to my parents. What did he say?”

“He said it depends,” replied Peter, at which point Remus began scribbling furiously. “There are spells for everything, which is why it’s been so hard for us—he asked for some detail.”

All three boys leaned forward.

“I just told him there was an object hanging around the school that sometimes wouldn’t let us get past it.”

“’Sometimes,’” James repeated. “Yes, that’s good. If it was all the time, he’d look into it and probably not give you anything, but if it’s phrased as just a nuisance that _occasionally _bothers you, he’ll be happy to oblige you.”

“Good point,” Sirius said. “What next, Peter?”

“He said that narrowed it a bit,” said the smaller boy. He seemed to be relishing all the special attention—there was a slight glow to his cheeks. “As far as he knows, there are two options: it’s either a spell specific to the statue, or something that works for many smaller objects.”

“Two options,” James said out loud. “Peter, this is brilliant! Now we actually know what we have to do. Was there any more?”

Peter shook his head. “That was all he could tell me.”

“Well, I say this a fantastic development,” Remus said, setting the parchment down. “And good enough for now.”

Sirius frowned. “What do you mean? Now we need to get to work!”

“That would be good,” said Remus, “except that the holidays are in a week. I say we settle down for now, focus on our homework, and regroup next month to read up on everything.”

James was almost taken aback by that. He’d become so used to the routine of staying up late, constantly working toward the answer to the mystery of the statue, that—he realized—he’d actually begun to have fun with it.

He wasn’t sure he was ready for it to be over.

Several days later, James was faced with another dilemma. As troubling as the realization that it was nearly Christmas had been, this new discovery only made things worse.

_James, our darling courageous boy, _his mother had written in a letter that had arrived the day earlier. That was how his parents always began their letters, so he tried never to show them to Sirius. _How are you? It’s so unfortunate that you didn’t make it onto the Quidditch team, but you’re only a first year, and I’m sure the competition was excellent. Hogwarts has a reputation for being the Quidditch center of excellence, after all. _

That wasn’t quite true. James knew she had only said it to make him feel better.

_I’m sure you can tell us much more when you come home in a few days—your father’s going to come and pick you up in that Muggle car of his. We’re both very much looking forward to seeing you! Love, Mum._

“Bet you’ll enjoy going home, won’t you?”

James spun around—Sirius was standing there, looking unashamed for all that he’d just read a private letter over his friend’s shoulder.

“I guess,” James said with a shrug, downplaying it for Sirius’ sake. “I mean, my parents are great, but they’re also pretty boring.”

“Loads better than mine, though.”

“That goes without saying.” James smiled, trying to make things a little cheerier. “How are you going to survive them?”

“I’m not,” Sirius said, so matter-of-factly that James couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I’m not going home. I’m staying here.”

“You’re…” James blinked. “You’re what?”

“Don’t look so shocked, mate.” Sirius looked surprised that James was surprised, which didn’t help the situation much. “I have to go home in the summer anyway, I couldn’t stand the idea of having them insult me for three weeks in the middle of the year.”

“But—but none of us are staying here.”

Sirius shrugged. “Yeah, I know.”

“But…but Sirius…” James felt that he couldn’t quite describe what, to him, was so wrong about that. “Then you’ll be alone. For three weeks.”

“Yeah, mate, I will,” said Sirius, who was beginning to sound a little irritated. “I know you all have great families, I don’t, and I’d never go home to them as long as I had a choice!”

“That’s not what I’m trying to make you do, it’s all right.” James ran a hand through his hair, trying to figure out an answer. “I know they’re awful, I don’t want you to go home. And I don’t want you to be alone either.”

“Well, sorry, mate. I have to pick one of those two options, I’ve already picked the first one, and they’re out of your control.”

James barely heard him. An idea had already taken hold of him, and as far as he could see, it was the only one that could satisfy both him and Sirius.

He smiled. “Maybe not.”

Sirius sighed. “Just give it a rest, James. I wish it wasn’t the holidays either, but you’ve got your parents to go home to! I’ll be fine here.”

“But you don’t have to,” James said earnestly, scooting himself closer to Sirius. “If Dumbledore’s letting you stay here, he’ll let me stay, too.”

Sirius stared at him.

Satisfied with the lack of hostility he was getting from his friend, James got up, went to his desk, and pulled out a piece of parchment.

“No,” Sirius said, following him. “No! James, you can’t do that.”

“Why not?” James dipped his quill in ink and began to write. _Dear Mum, something’s come up and I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it home for Christmas. I’ve made a new friend… _“You can’t go home to your family, but this way the two of us will be able to spend the holidays together. And,” he added, waggling his eyebrows mischievously, “this way we’ll be able to read up on spells to our heart’s desire.”

“Well—well, I suppose,” said Sirius, unusually flustered. “But, James, your parents—I’ve met them, they’ll be devastated! You can’t—”

“Too late.” James put the letter in an envelope. “I’ll get this to Falco as soon as I’m done convincing you, and they’ll know by tomorrow.”

“I—well—you—” Sirius’ frustration seemed to reach its peak; he threw up his hands, sighed, turned around…and then looked back with a smile. “Y’know, James, you’re the best person I’ve ever known.”

James hadn’t been expecting that at all—and while he was happy that Sirius was convinced, he didn’t know what to do with that kind of sentiment. Mostly because he’d never been told that by people who weren’t his family before…and because, after all the taunts and embarrassment he’d gone through, Sirius had gone through it with him.

“So are you,” he said. “What a miracle that someone raised by your parents would turn out this good.”

Sirius’ smile grew bigger—and then, unexpectedly, he pulled James into a very tight hug.

“Thanks for staying here,” he said into James’ shoulder. “And for bullying me into letting you stay.”

James didn’t say anything back. For once, he couldn’t seem to find anything to say. He’d also never been hugged this long, but some part of him figured that Sirius had rarely been hugged at all, so he didn’t move.

The two boys stayed like that for a long time. 

Christmastime had come at last, and for the first time James was excited for it, now that he knew he’d be spending it with at least one of his new friends. Almost overnight, the entire castle had become a place of festivity: there were garlands strung on every rail, above every window; the Great Hall was decorated with no fewer than twelve trees; lights twinkled everywhere; and for the benefit of many older students, there was even mistletoe in several places.

“Ah, look at these happy faces in front of me!” announced Dumbledore during the last meal before the official start of the holidays. “It’s been such a pleasure to see you all these last few months…and I will certainly miss you in the coming weeks. But of course, you’ve missed your families as well, and it would be remiss if I didn’t allow you time to see them!”

“What did your parents think?” Remus whispered to James. By now it was common knowledge among the four friends that James and Sirius were both staying at Hogwarts, and that it had been a last minute decision on James’ part.

“I haven’t heard from them yet.” James was actually worried—he and his parents had been very close over the years, and he didn’t know what they’d think about the fact that their only son didn’t want to come home to be with them. Hopefully they’d see that he was only doing it for Sirius’ sake. “They’ll have heard the news by now, though.”

“So depart with joy,” Dumbledore went on, “and rest your minds…when you return, you’ll have only schoolwork to fill your time!”

There were scattered laughs and groans.

“I leave you with an ode to Christmas, which I wrote myself: _Mid twinkle and winkle of bright Christmas lights/Forget never to let your loved ones be all your delight!_” Dumbledore smiled and raised his arms. “A happy Christmas to you all!”

With that, dinner was over, and the students began to clear out. Plates were magically whisked away from the table, and everyone began to chatter very loudly.

“My dad’s going to be here in a few minutes,” said Remus as they left the Great Hall. “So I’d better be going.”

“We’ll miss you, Remus,” said Peter. “Everything’s going to be so boring!”

“For us, at least,” said Remus morosely, as James and Sirius grinned. “They’ll be getting ahead of the both of us! We’ll have to catch up as soon as we get back.”

“Remember we’re both sacrificing rest and a break from school for this,” said James. “Be grateful, Remus.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “All right, it’s probably for the best that I get out of here.”

Peter shook his head with a laugh. “Me, too. See you next month!”

“See you!” James and Sirius called together.

As the students drifted away, James noticed Snape and Evans in a corner, talking quietly. For once, Snape didn’t appear too happy—his complexion was even more pale than usual, and he had a rather pinched look about him. Evans wasn’t much better. Her red hair was tied back, and there was a somber expression on her face.

The sight of them gave James mixed emotions. Some part of him felt bad for them, and wondered why…the other part was amused to see them so miserable, for once, when all they’d done was make _his _life miserable since he’d first arrived.

Sirius seemed to agree. “Look at them,” he said with a snort, “they look like they’re in love.”

“That’s true!” James laughed. “Come on, let’s get upstairs.”

Once the holidays had started, it was very hard not to get caught up with all the fun to be had: the ghosts that floated round long after their usual hour, humming Christmas songs to themselves, pastries that were always available no matter how many had been eaten the day before, the few older students that had decided to stick around and could be caught any time of the day snogging under the mistletoe…the latter proved the most irresistible temptation of them all.

But after a day and a half of relaxation and merriment, James decided that it was time to make his Christmas at Hogwarts count. He’d woken up after a vivid dream about the witch statue and couldn’t get back to sleep—so after half an hour he decided enough was enough.

“Sirius,” he whispered, hurrying over to his friend’s bed—one of the beauties of being two out of about fifteen students in the castle was that he didn’t have to worry about waking up Kingsley. “Oy! Sirius!”

“What—” Sirius’ eyes snapped open—and, finding James’ face inches from his, he screamed, shoved James into the wall, and toppled out of bed.

From his position in the corner of the room, James exploded with laughter. 

“James?” Sirius blinked. “Did I—where—what?”

“You pushed me,” James said, getting back to his feet with a laugh. “But I don’t really mind.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Sirius didn’t look at all sorry as he blinked, reorienting himself with the world. “What’s going on?”

“What’s going on is that we’re turning into slackers, Sirius. We told the others we’d get a head start, but are we? Not at all.”

“You want to go to the library,” Sirius said, miraculously sharp for all that he’d just been woken up very suddenly in the middle of the night. “No one’s going to be there.”

“Obviously.” James smirked. “Get dressed, let’s get out of here.”

They got out easily. Sir Cadogan was actually asleep and barely stirred as they left, as quietly as they could go.

It was the most surreal experience James had had yet. The castle was even spookier than usual with most of its population gone, and especially this late at night some part of his mind kept imagining that ghosts were going to surprise him around corners.

“We’ll have to be quiet,” Sirius said in a hushed voice. “Curfew still holds on holiday.”

“That’s absurd,” James muttered, but he walked as quietly as he had ever walked, looking round almost constantly for Filch and that nightmare cat of his. Once they heard someone walking and both hid round a corner—but they must have been hearing things, and made it to the library completely undetected.

“Do you think we just go in?” he whispered.

Sirius waited, peering in the door. “I don’t see anyone.”

James took that as a ‘yes,’ and walked straight in, tiptoeing over the soft floors. The library was completely black, and very eerie; and what’s more, there were millions of books in here.

“There’s so much, Sirius,” he whispered. “Where do we even start?”

“Well…” Sirius let the door shut behind them and lit a lamp. “Let’s see. We’ve already covered Transfiguration, we know that doesn’t work…we need to start with spells…”

“The Dark Arts,” James said. “That statue could be enchanted by a Dark wizard. Is there a section on the Dark Arts?”

Sirius shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”

For the next hour, James and Sirius went on a hunt through the library. They skimmed books on enchantments, books on rare potions, books on ancient runes. They even braved the dense texts of history to see if there was anything there—but in the end, the search turned up nothing.

“I don’t know what it is,” said Sirius in frustration. “Why isn’t there anything?”

“I dunno.” James shook his head. “Whenever I thought I was getting somewhere, the book wouldn’t talk about the subject anymore.”

“Well…” Slowly, Sirius’ eyes widened. “Wait a minute, I think I know why. I don’t know what it is, but there’s some conflict going on now, and one side is very obsessed with the Dark Arts. I’d thought it was just my parents, but I’ve even heard older students talking against Muggles. I think it’s connected to the Dark Arts.”

“So do I,” said James, remembering Robin Pulfrey. “Some of the boys in my neighborhood were insulting Hogwarts—they said Dumbledore is…” James gasped. “Dumbledore’s coming down against the Dark Arts! Of course. If Hogwarts has books on that, they’d be restricted.”

“If they’re even in the library,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “Not that I’m for the Dark Arts, but we need them to solve the mystery! Don’t older students need to know the Dark Arts, in order to fight them? Isn’t that the _entire purpose _of Defense Against The Dark Arts?”

“Yeah.” Another idea had taken hold. What if…

“Uh-oh.” Sirius was barely holding back a laugh. “You’ve got that look in your eyes.”

James frowned. “What look?”

“The look when you’ve got an idea for something really risky. Come on, what is it?”

“I’m wondering…” James smiled mischievously. “Is there some sort of restricted area in the library?”

Sirius smiled back. “Let’s find out.”

As it turned out, there was one, but it was very difficult to find. Tucked back into a remote corner of the library, it was small, sparse, and completely dark. But it was blocked off by a rope, and a sign on the wall read FORBIDDEN BOOKS.

“This is it,” said James. “It has to be.”

He stepped over the rope, Sirius behind him, and scanned the titles. “Let me see. _Ancient Potions That Killed, The Danger Of…_what’s that, Horcruzies?”

“_Horcruxes,” _Sirius said, pronouncing it ‘Hor-crucks-es.’ “I have no idea, I’ve just heard my parents mention them a few times, but they’ve got nothing to do with what we’re looking for.”

“Well, that’s not important then.” James continued to browse. “_Infamous Murderers Who Attended Durmstrang…Poisons And How They Work…_these sound like a lot of fun, don’t they?”

“I’d like to try that last one out on my parents,” Sirius joked before pointing to a book on one of the lower shelves. “What’s that one?”

“_Transfiguration Spells For Revealing Objects.” _James grinned. “This is it! Let’s start here.” He reached for the book—

“No!” Sirius smacked James’ arm away.

“Hey!” James rubbed his arm. “What was that for?”

“I’ve never been able to take a book off of my parents’ bookshelves without them knowing about it,” Sirius explained. “They start…I dunno, _shrieking _at you.”

“Oh.” James took a step back. “Got any ideas?”

“Well…well, maybe. There was this one spell—” Sirius squeezed his eyes shut, clearly thinking. “I…I don’t…argh!”

Without telling James why, he climbed over the rope and ran off into the library. From a distance, James heard the sound of books being rapidly pulled out of their places and knew he was going to have to tell Sirius to clean that up.

Several minutes later, Sirius returned, drew his wand, and pointed it at the book. “_Conquierum._” He put his wand away. “All right. It should be safe now. Just in case, though, I’ll pick it up.”

Sirius reached forward, ever so slowly…he closed his fingers around the book…and nothing.

James heaved a sigh of relief and sat down.

“All right,” he said. “What’s it say?”

Sirius turned to a random page and began to read. “’What one must remember about Transfiguration is that spells must be precise to the situation at hand, and they must be delivered _exactly. _Charms or even Potions are simpler; if those are slightly off-kilter, or unrefined, the side effects are easily cured. Not so with Transfiguration. If even one detail is out of place, and an object is transformed into a different type of object, person, or other thing, the results could be severe, and only a very skilled witch or wizard would be able to reverse it. So it must be distinguished between _people _and _objects. _There are different spells for each, and the methods of performing them, and some of those spells will be disclosed in this book.’”

Sirius looked up with a grin. “Think this is what we’re looking for?”

James grinned back. “Without a doubt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Conquierum" is not a spell by J.K. Rowling; I made it up for this chapter. It comes from the Latin word "conquiesco," which is a command meaning "be quiet."


	12. Chapter Twelve: The Pact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over the holidays, James and Sirius continue to research methods of getting past the statue; Christmas arrives; chaos ensues; Dumbledore imparts some words of wisdom...and a Certain Phrase is uttered for the first time.

That night of reading was the longest night of either James’ or Sirius’ lives so far, but it was also, without a doubt, the most fun. It was very early in the morning—or very late at night, however you looked at it—but neither of them once suggested going to bed. They were learning things that they had no idea ever existed—not only things that would help them with the statue, but things that were interesting, or wild, or terrifying, or all three at once.

They learned that five factors must be taken into account when performing a spell: body weight, viciousness, wand power, concentration, and an unknown variable.

They had vaguely remembered the four branches of Transfiguration—Conjuration, Vanishment, Transformation, Untransfiguration—but what they didn’t know was that Conjuration, the most difficult branch, not only had some Dark properties—that must be why the book was in the Forbidden section—but also had its own set of rules. According to Gamp’s Law, there were five things that could not be transfigured out of thin air, including food and clothing; conjured items did not last for a long time; if the casting was performed wrong, it could result in the creation of a hybrid.

“That would be fun,” said Sirius with a laugh. “I’d swap them for my mum’s ancient relics and see how long it took her to figure it out.”

They learned that Untransfiguration, the act of reversing a transformation, was considered both a transfiguration _and _a counter-spell.

They learned that Vanishment was second only to Conjuration in its level of difficulty and if one didn’t have a clear head when performing the spell, the intended object would be multiplied instead of vanished.

“Vanishing,” said James. “Do you think that’s what we have to do? Vanish the statue?”

“I dunno,” said Sirius. “The book says there’s only one spell, so it might be worth it to give it a test. Does it say the spell anywhere in there?”

James searched and searched, and finally on page 548 he found it: _Evanesco._

“That looks difficult,” he said.

“Yeah, we’re probably not supposed to learn this until fourth year at least.” Sirius said with a grin. “Should we try it out first?”

“Yeah, but not on the book. Untransfiguration sounds difficult too, we might not be able to get it back and so far it’s the only thing that’s helping us.” James noticed a lone quill resting on the desk in front of him. “Let’s do it on that.”

“All right.” Sirius drew his wand. “_Evanesco!_”

There was a loud _bang! _and a clatter. Twenty quills had rolled off the table.

“Well,” said Sirius. “That was just the first try.”

“I think you might need to wave your arm more,” said James. “Here, let me try it.” He stepped forward, swished his wrist, and said: “Evanesco!”

This time, sixty quills rolled off the desk.

“They’re still multiplying.” James ran both hands through his hair. “What are we doing wrong?”

“I don’t know!”

“Check the book again!”

Sirius flipped through the book, examining page after page—and then he let out a groan. “Oh, I don’t believe it.”

James hurried over. “Don’t believe what?”

Out loud, Sirius read: “In all forms of Transfiguration, perhaps the most difficult thing to remember in all tense situations is to keep the arm _still _when performing the casting spell. All basically proficient wizards know this.”

James took off his glasses, ran a hand over his face, and put them back on.

“We’re idiots,” said Sirius, sitting down next to him.

James couldn’t have explained the sudden determination that came over him at those two words, but suddenly he was sick of being called stupid by everyone else, sick of everyone making fun of him, sick of him and Sirius being a joke. He stood up.

“No,” he said.

Sirius frowned. “No?”

“No,” James said, planting his hands on his hips. “We are not going to be pushed around like this anymore. We are _not _idiots, we’re only first years—and we have the potential to be the coolest boys in the entire school!”

Sirius stood up.

“You’re absolutely right,” he said. “My parents have pushed me down my entire life, just for not being perfect at everything I do—when, in fact, I’ve been better at everything I’ve ever done than anyone else would in my position.”

James blinked.

“Okay, so I didn’t word that the best,” Sirius amended, “but you get what I’m saying, right? The two of us have dozens of great skills, and the only thing that’s kept us from using them is what everyone’s been telling us since we got here!”

“Exactly!” James exclaimed. “Sirius, this mystery has given us a chance. Either we give up, right now, and go back to being the worthless idiots everyone else knows us to be…or we can do the work, learn things even NEWT-level students don’t know, solve this mystery, and become the heroes of Hogwarts!”

A wild grin lit up Sirius’ face. “That’s the most brilliant thing I’ve ever heard you say! Do you know what we need?”

“What do we need?” James asked, genuinely curious.

“We need a pact,” said Sirius. “A vow, you know—like the Unbreakable Vow, only much safer. Something that’ll keep us going until we solve this mystery.”

“Of course,” said James. “Because, since we’re not used to hard work, we might be prone to giving up.”

“So what should it be?”

“Swear,” James thought out loud. “Something that we swear…something that can’t ever be broken.”

“We’ll have to tell Remus and Peter when they get back, then they can be in on it too. We can’t get this done just between the two of us. As brilliant as we are, we’ve already seen what they’re capable of.”

“Obviously.” James thought, and thought, and… “Oh, Sirius! What’s something that applies to all of us?”

“We’re always in trouble,” Sirius thought aloud. “We’re always being scolded for something. No one trusts us…not our doing, just an unfortunate coincidence.”

“I swear we will always be in trouble…” James shook his head. “No. I don’t like the sound of that.”

Sirius shrugged. “We’ll keep working on it.”

Suddenly James became aware of voices in the hallway outside…it was Filch!

“Sirius,” he hissed. “We need to leave!”

Sirius’ eyes widened. Quickly, he put the book back, and looked at the quills.

“Uh-oh,” he said. “This is bad news.”

“Uh…” James held his wand straight and closed his eyes. “Evanesco!”

One of the quills vanished. There were seventy-nine quills on the floor.

“We don’t have time,” he said, “just shove them under the desk.”

In a frenzy, he and Sirius kicked at the quills until they were mostly hidden from sight. Filch was still coming closer…James could hear him talking to someone…

“Okay, let’s go,” James whispered. “Is there some sort of back door?”

“No,” Sirius whispered back, extinguishing his lamp quickly. “We’ll just have to wait.”

They hurried toward the door and crouched down, waiting. Yes, James could just see Filch, drifting closer to the library…his cat walked at his side…and then there was someone else, a man…

“I’m telling you, sir,” Filch was saying, “there’s someone in the library, probably some of those sneaky first years, think they can do anything they like on holiday.”

“Do not be so quick to judge, Argus,” said a soft, gentle voice, and then James’ heart started pounding in his chest. _Dumbledore. _“If there are indeed students here as you suggest, they are probably bored! On holiday, out of class, and stuck here at Hogwarts with nothing to do…I myself would not blame them.”

Dumbledore and Filch stopped in front of the library. James caught his breath—behind him, he couldn’t even hear Sirius. One second, two—

“You see? It is completely dark. Any students might not have been quick enough to extinguish their lamps.” Dumbledore gave the door a very keen look before turning Filch away. “Let us try the East Wing, shall we?”

And before James knew it, they were gone.

Sirius wiped a hand over his forehead. “I can’t believe we got out of that!”

“We…” James shook his head. “We didn’t get out of it. Dumbledore knew we were here.”

After that night, James and Sirius returned to the library every night to do more practicing and more reading. They exhausted the first book without finding clear answers, so they moved on to two more Forbidden books: one on Vanishing and the other on Untransfiguration, which they had decided would be their two main areas of research. If the statue didn’t involve some kind of Dark magic, Sirius proposed, either the statue could be vanished or it could be untransfigured to reveal what it had been before.

“I’m optimistic,” James said, “so I think we should go for Vanishing.”

Sirius frowned. “Interesting. Why?”

“Because if we Vanish it,” James explained, “then it could reveal the passage behind it; but if we Untransfigure it, the statue could just turn into something else.”

So from that point on, James and Sirius studied Vanishing as much as they could, hunting through the Forbidden Books for everything they could find. From the first one they learned that “Evanesco” was the only spell used for Vanishments—but because it was the only spell, it was all the more difficult to cast correctly…and they also discovered that you had to have absolute confidence when casting the spell.

They continued to practice on the seventy-nine quills. Now they could do one at a time, but according to this book, very skilled wizards could vanish multiple small objects at once, by turning the wand in a very rigid circle _as _the spell was performed.

“That’s something McGonagall won’t teach us,” Sirius said with a grin. “She doesn’t want us vanishing multiple desks.”

“Guess that’s why it’s Forbidden,” James said with a smile.

After the first book, they moved on to the next, _How To Vanish Different Sorts Of Objects. _It was very long and very old; it dated back about three hundred years ago.

“Then it’ll be good,” Sirius told him. “Wizards didn’t used to be as strict about the Dark Arts a hundred years ago, most of the books my parents own are from the seventeenth century. This is going to tell us lots.”

And it certainly did. Vanishing people, for example, was possible…but that was considered to be _very _Dark, and not at all something that either James or Sirius intended to try.

“’If a sentient creature is Vanished, it is not known or unknown where it traveleth,’” James read aloud. “’What is most possible, however, is that it immediately becomes everything and nothing at once, both living and dying, trapped in an intermediate existence. The spell is…’” James hesitated. “I don’t even know if I can say it out loud.”

“That seems right.” Sirius looked at the book. “But, James, if living creatures can be Vanished and not die…and we Vanish other objects…” He gasped. “Does that mean they’re still _there?_” He covered his mouth. “Are there Vanished things here right now?”

James stared at Sirius, not knowing what to say. It was too eerie.

At that point, both boys decided it was very late and they needed to go to bed.

A week into the holidays, it was very nearly Christmas, and James and Sirius had perfected the Vanishing spell enough that they decided it was time to try and Vanish all the quills.

James went first, pointing his wand with a steady hand, and swept it in a slow circle, taking great care to keep his movements straight and in control. “Evanesco!”

Five of the quills disappeared.

He was so excited he gave a shout, throwing both his hands in the air. “Sirius! Sirius, I did it!”

“You bloody did!” Sirius pushed him aside. “Let me do it!”

Sirius copied James’ movements, keeping everything straight. “Evanesco!”

There was a bang…and six quills were gone.

Sirius stared at his success, his eyes wide. “Okay…okay, you again, James.”

They could not believe their luck. Again and again they thought the quills would multiply, that it was just an accident…but it never happened. Slowly, the quills Vanished, five or six at a time—once James even managed seven, which got both of them excited again.

And then it was all over, and the quills had completely Vanished.

James and Sirius could not contain themselves. They whooped and shouted, jumping all over the library and Vanishing random objects at will. If Filch had walked in at that moment, they would have gone on shouting and Vanishing, so excited were they at this great success.

At last James threw himself down on a chair, worn out. “We did it.”

Sirius threw himself down next to James. “We sure did.”

“Just wait ‘til Snivellus gets back,” James said wickedly, “and sees what we can do! He was never great at Transfiguration anyway--”

“Snivellus?” Sirius sat up. “Who d’you mean?”

James sighed. “Sirius, who’s my worst enemy in the school?”

“Well, it’s Severus Sn—” Sirius’ jaw dropped. “James, that’s the most genius nickname I’ve had the pleasure to hear in my life.”

“Of course it is.” James put his arms behind his head.

“Well, he snivels all over the place, always looks so pale—”

James laughed. “I’ve got no clue what Evans sees in him.”

“She never should’ve been in Gryffindor.” Sirius shook his head. “She’s got no talent, no courage…should’ve expected it, she’s not very pretty.”

James shrugged. “How would I know?”

Sirius kicked the air idly. “Yeah, that’s true. All girls are about the same.”

They lay there for several minutes, drowsily humming and waving their wands, until suddenly Sirius jumped up.

“James! We have to do it!”

“Do—” James blinked his eyes open—he’d half fallen asleep and was wishing he could go back to it. “Do what?”

“Test it out on the statue! If we could do _this—_”

“Of course!” James lost all exhaustion in an instant and leapt to his feet. “Let’s go!”

But they had hardly taken a step forward when Filch’s furious voice could be heard several corridors away: “STUDENTS OUT OF BED! THERE ARE STUDENTS OUT OF BED!”

“Let’s go…upstairs,” James amended quickly, sprinting for the door.

“Great idea,” said Sirius, right behind him. In minutes they had slipped out of the door and up the stairs, and were inside Gryffindor Tower before the nosy caretaker had even reached the library.

The next day was Christmas, and what a day it turned out to be.

James and Sirius slept in, exhausted from the night before, and when James woke up mid-morning he found that it was snowing. But not only was it snowing—somewhere both inside and outside their dormitory ghosts were singing. He stared at them for several minutes in shock before joining in himself.

Sirius woke up during the second verse of “I Cast A Spell On Father Christmas.” He looked round in confusion, sat up, rubbed his eyes, and looked again.

“James!” he said, and the singing stopped—at least, from James. The ghosts kept on. “James, er…” He rubbed his eyes again. “What?”

James laughed. “Happy Christmas, Sirius!”

“Oh.” Sirius finally seemed to wake up, and a slow smile stretched across his face. “Happy Christmas, James!” He gasped. “Look, James!”

James looked. There at the foot of his bed was a pile of presents—Sirius had one too, though it was smaller. With identical shouts, they jumped out of bed and began to tear through the wrapping on each gift.

Smiling, the ghosts stopped singing and slowly drifted away.

James had received three presents from his parents first, and they were all spectacular—a very large box of Chocolate Frogs, a set of wizard chess, and a set of new robes, _just in case yours have gotten shabby, _his mother had written. His grandmother on his dad’s side had sent the ugliest sweater James had ever seen, which he knew immediately he would never wear.

Sirius’ presents were…well, different, to say the least. From his parents, he had received what was probably the most expensive piece of jewellery James had ever seen in his life: a silver brooch, designed with a green crest and a large, spidery letter B.

“The Black family,” Sirius said, rolling his eyes. “I get one of these every year.”

“You—” James stuttered. “My family could buy a second house for the price of that!”

Sirius sighed. “It’s not anything special. D’you notice the colors?”

James looked. “Green and silver. Slytherin.”

Sirius nodded morosely. “This is just their fancy way of telling me the Hogwarts system is nonsense, and I actually belong in Slytherin.”

James stared at him. “You don’t actually think you do, do you?”

“Of course not, it’s full of cowards and asses.”

James smirked. “Well, what else did you get?”

“This is from my brother Regulus.” Sirius showed James an album of the wizarding band The Hobgoblins. “He’s like my parents in their obsession with Dark stuff—worships them, really, so we’re not as close as we used to be. Still have music in common, though.”

“My parents never let me listen to them,” said James, examining the album. The Hobgoblins all had very long hair, ragged clothes, and rather sallow complexions…but something about the look had always appealed to him.

“I can see that, no offense.” Sirius took the album back. “My parents don’t let us listen to it, either. They don’t even _know _we’re listening, they wait until we’re out of the house.”

“Well, it’s just rock, it can’t be all bad—”

“James.” Sirius shook his head. “Obviously you’ve never listened to any Hobgoblins.”

“Obviously.”

“Some of the songs have…it’s not obvious, but they reference Muggles and Muggleborns a lot,” Sirius explained. “One of the group members is Muggleborn himself.”

James was quiet. “I see.” He grabbed the box of Chocolate Frogs. “Want one?”

Sirius’ eyes lit up. “Sure!”

After sharing chocolates, trying on James’ new robes, and playing Sirius’ new album, it was time for the Christmas feast. There were indeed very few students at Hogwarts—most of them were older students in their fifth and sixth years who didn’t cast so much as a glance toward James and Sirius. Frank Longbottom was there, though, so they sat with him.

“I didn’t know you were staying,” James said. “How come?”

Frank shrugged. “My parents are in France. I didn’t really want to go to France, though, so I stayed here. It’s good, I can get some homework done. How about you?”

James wondered if Frank should know about Sirius’ family. He stayed silent.

“We wanted to do homework,” said Sirius. So they weren’t telling Frank, then. “We’ve got…a lot of big projects coming up.”

“Really?” said Frank anxiously. “I didn’t know professors were giving out the final assignments early, I must have missed something. What classes are you taking?”

James looked over nervously at Sirius, who was going paler and paler.

“Er…” James started.

“Well…” said Sirius.

“Here is your dinner, good sir!” proclaimed Nearly Headless Nick, swooping in to deliver James and Sirius from further explanation. Eagerly, they dove in.

Growing up, James had never wanted for food…generally, he’d had nice meals, been able to eat whatever he wanted…he’d eaten everything but sweets and very expensive things, which only came once a year…but this was more than he ever could have dreamed of. There were pastries, and fifteen different kinds of meat, and soup that somehow tasted exactly like his mum’s, though he couldn’t have described it to anyone…and best of all, there was a twenty-tier cake that not only kept from toppling over, but shrieked: “Christmas has come! Christmas has come!” when you took a slice of it.

Dumbledore didn’t give a welcome address—there were too few students, James supposed. But towards the end of the meal James noticed Dumbledore looking at him with a very peculiar look in his eye. James didn’t know what to make of that, so he ignored it.

At last, as the evening wore on, even the professors were beginning to talk loudly. Slughorn, who had clearly drunk more than was good for him, was slurring his words and telling nonsensical stories about students he’d gone to school with, Dumbledore was laughing merrily, and even Flitwick had turned a bit pink in the face. Now, James decided, it was time.

“Sirius,” he hissed, nudging his friend, who was half asleep. “Sirius!”

“Wh—what?” Sirius blinked. “I’m listening. What?”

“Now’s our chance,” he whispered, so that Frank couldn’t hear him. “We’ve got to do it now…now, while everyone’s at their most distracted!”

Sirius woke up in an instant. “Oh, yeah—let’s get out of here.”

And so, moving very quickly, James and Sirius had slipped out of the Great Hall before anyone noticed.

It took James a moment, but he remembered where the statue was: the third floor, at the end of the Turris Magnis, one of the largest towers in the castle. Initially, James had been running as fast as he could go, but now he slowed down, struck immediately by the memory of that smoke chasing after him. 

Where had it come from?

“James.” Sirius’ finger poked him in the back. “Oy! You listening?”

“Oh, yeah,” said James, realizing he’d stopped dead. “Sorry.”

He crept the rest of the way very slowly, closer and closer. As of yet there was no voice, but that didn’t mean—

_“Do not come any closer!”_

James stopped in his tracks—Sirius came to a halt behind him.

“All right,” said Sirius with a gulp. “You want to do it?”

“I’ve already been here,” said James. “I think she’d recognize me.”

“Oh, right, good point.” Sirius stepped forward, and James couldn’t hide his sigh of relief. He still had the occasional nightmare about that night he’d nearly been killed. Of course, that didn’t mean he was a coward—he wasn’t afraid of the statue. He was just being logical, for once. Maybe Remus had rubbed off on him.

“Here goes nothing.” Sirius drew out his wand.

“Now, remember,” said James, desperately hoping this went well. “Arm straight, be confident…just like with the quills.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sirius snapped, probably much more sharply than he’d meant to—just nerves, James thought. “Here goes nothing.”

He pointed his arm at the statue, standing straight and confident. “Evanesco!”

Sparks jetted forward from Sirius’ wand, striking the statue right in the head. At first, nothing happened…and then a cloud of smoke billowed up—there was a loud _bang!_—the ground shook—and when the smoke cleared, the statue was intact, and there was a small fire raging on the floor. The fire waved and puffed, as if it wanted to grow larger, but it must have been some Hogwarts charm that made it shrink, and die, and eventually become nothing.

Mouths agape, James and Sirius stared at the mess they’d created.

“So,” said Sirius. “Er…”

“I don’t think the statue can be Vanished,” said James, unable to believe his eyes.

“Me neither.” Sirius put his wand away, which was the only part of the situation left unscathed. “Well, we can check Vanishing off the list.”

“Yeah…” Once again, James looked at the statue, which so far had remained silent, a black stain in the middle of its head that, like the fire, slowly faded. “Sirius! D’you know what this means?”

Sirius stared at him. “Besides the smoking statue?”

“Sirius!” James gave him a whack. “Come on, mate! Look at what you did—you hit the statue straight on!”

“Really?” Sirius looked at the mark that was almost gone. Slowly, the disappointed expression on his face gave way to a small, cocky grin. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

James and Sirius stood for a few seconds, looking at the smoking statue. Despite that they’d essentially failed, James couldn’t help but feel hopeful—they were making real progress now, weren’t they? Instead of simply reading books and asking questions and sneaking round the castle at ungodly hours, they were actually _doing _something. Failing, maybe…but they were far from done, and now they knew that there was one method that didn’t work. There was a Muggle word for what they were doing, but James couldn’t think of it. It started with an S, that much he knew—

“I knew it!”

Filch’s voice echoed down the corridor. In a panic, James’ head snapped up. The caretaker hadn’t arrived yet, but he was coming, and if the statue was still smoking then, he would know what they were doing…they had to run, quickly. If he didn’t catch them there, he wouldn’t know it was them…

Then they heard a second voice.

“Argus, I must say I doubted you at first, but we all felt the ground shake in the Great Hall. It must be some students who are here over the holidays and thought they could cause trouble…and might I say, I have an excellent idea who it might be.”

Professor McGonagall.

James looked at Sirius in terror. They could get this past Filch, but McGonagall? She’d see them in class, and she’d ask…

“Go,” Sirius hissed. “What are you doing?”

“Right,” said James, snapped out of his panic. “Right!” He took off several steps in the other direction…and then he got an idea. “Split up, Sirius, let’s go separate ways!”

Sirius didn’t respond—he immediately ran in the opposite direction, sprinting down a separate corridor. James could hear Filch and McGonagall talking, but he didn’t dare look back. He only ran, shoes slipping on the floor as he turned, running up the stairs toward the fourth floor—he just had to reach Gryffindor Tower, get inside, and he had an excuse he could use.

A pair of sixth years, a Gryffindor and a Hufflepuff, were kissing in the corner—James took pleasure in shouting a warning at them to split up the disgusting display before running straight through.

“Oy!” the girl shouted. “Watch where you’re going!”

James didn’t stop or slow down, only ran faster, taking the next staircase two at a time. His heart was pounding in his chest, but he couldn’t even think about stopping. He was almost there…he went this way every day to get to the Great Hall…he had reached the staircase, had begun to climb…

If he hadn’t been running so fast, he would have noticed the stairs turn into a slide. But as it was, James Potter was suddenly not going up, but sliding _down, _and landing in front of a pair of heeled boots. 

“Well, I would dare say I’ve caught you this time, haven’t I?” said a sharp voice.

Slowly, he looked up. McGonagall was standing over him. Her arms were folded over her chest, and there was a coldly triumphant look in her eyes.

Quickly, James jumped to his feet.

“C…caught me?” he said—for the moment, his best hope was to play dumb. After all, he reminded himself, McGonagall hadn’t seen him or Sirius on the third floor. She only suspected—very rightly—that they were to blame. “Caught me at what?”

“Now, that is quite enough, Mr. Potter!” McGonagall snapped, and the sudden fire in her voice almost made James flinch. “For the entire year I have put up with your antics, your very poor grades, your lack of ability to take anything seriously, the reports that you and Sirius Black have been seen, repeatedly, wandering about the castle hours past your curfew! I have done all that, when you are in _my _House, and I could have you _expelled _at a moment’s notice, in case you are unaware. I have done it because a very dear friend of mine, the new and recent Headmaster, believes in second chances. Suffice it to say, I have given you more than _two chances, _but I was happy to wait. Until now! On Christmas Day itself, a day of happiness and cheer and merriment, you and Mr. Black can think of nothing better to do than ruining the castle!”

James didn’t know what to say. His mouth was open, and he was still trying to think of an excuse.

“I haven’t yet caught proof that it was the two of you who set fire to the statue in the Turris Magnis,” McGonagall went on, and James thought that was completely unfair—the fire had vanished after all, and they had only smoke to go off of. “But when I do—and I will—I will have found inexhaustible evidence that you and Sirius Black are up to no good, and you will be on the first train off the premises! I wish you had never been sorted into my House—you are two disgraces to the name Gryffindor.”

Everything else, James could take. Shouts and insults and threats, he could handle…but he’d wanted all his life to be in Gryffindor, he was proud of it, and nothing she said would ever change that.

“Well, Professor,” he said, feeling his heart race, “you won’t find any proof. I was never in the Turris Magnis.”

McGonagall seemed as if she were about to lose her mind. She stared at James, dumbfounded, for several seconds, before throwing her hands up in the air. “Will you ever learn? What is it next? Do you expect me to believe that you are secretly brilliant, and that you obey all of the rules, and I am mistaken? When we felt the ground shake, everyone was in the Great Hall…everyone but the two of you. Where, pray tell, were you instead of the Turris Magnis?”

“I was here,” were the words that came out of James’ mouth, but he hardly registered saying them. His heart was pounding, he was sure some part of him was shaking…and yet, his mouth didn’t want to give up yet.

“Here. Of course.” McGonagall crossed her arms. “And what were you doing here? Running up the stairs and back down again?”

“No, that’s against the rules.” How he was doing it James had no idea—it felt like he was a bystander, just watching himself say all these crazy things, and he didn’t know what to do about it…but so far he wasn’t on a train home yet.

“Against the rules! Do you really dare to mock me, Mr. Potter? This is the last straw. I will get the evidence I need, and return! Now, tell me, _if you weren’t on the third floor then what were you doing here?”_

Words spoken with that level of ferocity seldom deserve a reply—most students would have known better than to answer with anything but the truth. But not James.

“I was waiting for Professor Dumbledore,” he said.

The cold, triumphant look came into McGonagall’s eyes again, and James knew immediately that he was done for. “Professor Dumbledore? Really? Well, if that’s so, then I will just have to ask him myself.”

_Good-bye, Hogwarts, _he thought sadly, wishing desperately that he could have shut himself up much earlier, or at least thought of a better excuse. The second McGonagall found Dumbledore, it was all over…

Soft footsteps echoed behind him. James turned around…and there was Dumbledore himself.

James’ heart dropped into the pit of his stomach.

“Ah! Mr. Potter,” said Dumbledore, as if he’d been expecting him.

James stared at Dumbledore in bewildered confusion. Why didn’t he sound angry? Or suspicious? Or anything else but pleased?

“Here you are, waiting for me just as promised,” Dumbledore went on, and James had the pleasure of seeing Professor Minerva McGonagall’s jaw slowly drop open. “And on Christmas as well! How noble of you, to give up your time like this.”

James blinked several times, and eventually it occurred to him that he had better say something, to completely escape McGonagall’s suspicion.

“Er…not a problem at all, sir,” he stammered. “I’ve—I’ve already opened all my presents.”

“Excellent!” Dumbledore turned to the stunned McGonagall. “Now, Minerva, would you mind…?”

“Of…course,” she said slowly, glaring daggers at James. James looked innocently back at her—and then, huffing to herself, McGonagall turned and walked away, her robes swishing as she went.

“Professor,” James gasped as soon as she was gone. “Professor, I can’t thank you enough—how did you—why did you—”

“I believe, James, that it would be wise to ask one at a time,” Dumbledore said kindly. “But I am still young enough, so I will do my best to answer all of them. You are welcome, I knew what you were thinking because I am a Legilimens and can read the minds of others if I wish, and I did it because I think that you are a student with great potential, and I do not wish to see you expelled.”

“But…” James bowed his head. He had never felt more ashamed, and his shame was made all the worse by the quiet, forgiving way Dumbledore addressed him…as if he had never done anything wrong, as if he’d been the model student his parents wanted him to be. “But I haven’t done anything good, Professor. I haven’t taken my lessons seriously, I’ve showed up late to class, and worst of all…worst of all, I think I’ve damaged a magical artefact in the castle.”

“Damaged?” Dumbledore chuckled. “Dear Gunhilda can withstand much worse than whatever the two of you cooked up. I have examined the scene myself, and I think that Professor McGonagall will not find anything worth evicting you and Sirius from Hogwarts.”

Huge amounts of tension seeped out of James’ shoulders. He heaved a sigh.

Then Dumbledore lowered himself slightly, gazing at James with an intense stare. James found he couldn’t hold it for long, and looked away, wondering what he had done now. Did Dumbledore…did he know what they were up to?

“However,” Dumbledore went on gravely, “there is one sin you have committed, young James, that is much worse than any you have just mentioned to me.”

James felt a spike of fear. “What is it, sir?”

The intense gaze softened, and a look almost of compassion filled the unblinking blue eyes. 

“You have doubted yourself,” he said softly. “You came here wishing to be something great, you did not succeed instantly…and so you gave up. You accepted what other students and professors were saying about you, believing—quite falsely—that they somehow understood everything there is to know about you. You are much more than their empty words, and yet you yourself do not believe it.” Dumbledore laid a gentle hand on James’ shoulder, and with that touch James felt as if every fear and doubt from the last four months were ebbing away. “That, James, is why I helped you escape tonight. I will not expel you until you have realized your potential. Professor McGonagall means very well, but she has certain standards for her House…in fact, most of the professors do. They are not used to me, not used to forgiveness and second chances. As you grow up, you will find that most of the world does not. But to forgive makes you all the stronger…all the wiser…and so I choose to forgive you for your complicity in the past.”

James stared at Dumbledore in amazement. It was like a new fire was being poured into him—a determination he had never felt before, even with his three friends, to do what was needed of him.

“What I ask in return,” Dumbledore said gently, “is that you believe in yourself, as I have believed in you. Believe in yourself…believe in your friends, who are much wiser and much more courageous than any other students you will meet in this school.”

“I—I will, sir,” James managed to get out. “I will.” He smiled. “You can count on me.”

Dumbledore bowed his head. “That is what I wanted to hear.”

There were footsteps behind them—very fast footsteps, and hurried. James looked over Dumbledore’s shoulder. Sirius was running as fast as he could, skidding round the corner and nearly tripping over his own feet.

“JAMES!” he bellowed. “James, hurry! If we don’t—” Then he noticed Dumbledore, and stopped short. There was a moment where he stared up at the Headmaster in absolute horror, and then a smile slid over his face.

“Er…good evening, Professor,” he said weakly. “How are you?”

“I am just fine, Sirius,” said Dumbledore, who looked as though he was trying not to laugh. “I was just having a very excellent talk with your friend.”

“You—you were?” Sirius stammered.

“I was,” Dumbledore said serenely, “and I have something to say to you, as well.”

Sirius went white. “You…you do?”

“Yes, I do.” Dumbledore bent down to whisper something. James tried to listen, but couldn’t catch anything—the words were meant for Sirius alone. But when Dumbledore backed away, Sirius looked as stunned as James had felt minutes ago.

“Er…er…er, thanks, Professor,” he said at last. “Thank you.”

“And now,” Dumbledore said, straightening up, “it is getting to be very late. I assume the two of you would like to be in bed?”

“Yes,” said James, resolving then that they would not go down to the library…for Dumbledore’s sake. “Yeah, Sirius. Come on.”

Dumbledore moved slightly to allow them to walk toward the stairs.

“I believe,” the Headmaster said, with a twinkle in his eyes, “that you will find this stair in particular to be more…agreeable.”

James laughed. “Thank you, sir.”

Then he and Sirius turned and went up the stairs into Gryffindor Tower. Dumbledore watched them for a moment longer, and then he too went off to bed.

Hours later, James and Sirius should have been asleep. But both of them, too used to nights awake and both thinking of Dumbledore’s words of wisdom, couldn’t manage it.

“Why do you s’pose he’s like this?” Sirius asked at last into the darkness. Once again, they were appreciating Kingsley’s absence, because they could say what they liked.

“Like what?” James asked drowsily.

“Oh, you know…” Sirius waved a hand idly. “He turned a blind eye to everything we do. He’s got to know what we’re up to at this point…and yet he pretended to be on our side. I mean, first of all it makes him the coolest teacher in the school—”

“Cooler than Rookwood?”

“That might be a hard pass,” Sirius admitted, “but yeah. Cooler than Rookwood. What did he say to you?”

“That I need to believe in myself, and he’ll keep me here until I do,” James said. “You?”

“That my family isn’t of any consequence, and I am who I choose to be,” Sirius said. “He knew my parents, but…he said I’m already stronger than them.”

Suddenly James wished he could run back to Dumbledore and thank him again. That was what Sirius had needed to hear since the first of September.

“He also said…” James was tired, so he struggled to remember. “Something along the lines of…everyone else…doesn’t believe in second chances. They judge people right away, and it’s not just like that here. It’s like that in the whole world…but that this kind of forgiveness makes you stronger.”

“I dunno what I think about that,” Sirius said. “I could forgive some of the students here…but I don’t know that I’d forgive my parents.”

“I think…” James sighed. “I think he’d say that was all right.”

Sirius turned toward him. “What makes you think that?”

James shrugged. “No idea. I just think he’d be like that. Seems to be who he is.”

“Maybe.” James could hear a smile in Sirius’ voice. “G’night, James.”

“Good night, Sirius.”

James rolled over and tried to go to sleep. He was actually on the verge of it, when he remembered something McGonagall had said to him.

_I will have found inexhaustible evidence that you and Sirius Black are up to no good._

“Sirius,” he whispered.

There was a moment’s silence, and then—“Yeah? What?”

“Remember that…the thing I said about the pact?”

“What pact?”

“A sort of friendship pact…a saying, you know, that we can all tell each other. Just a thing to say, a sort of handshake, that’ll keep us focused on whatever we need?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Sirius sounded more awake. “You thought of something?”

“I sure did. McGonagall was shouting at me…you won’t believe everything she said. Some of it was awful—we don’t belong in Gryffindor House, things like that.”

Sirius snorted. “Like that’s new. Did you say anything back?”

“Yeah. I couldn’t believe it.”

“Good.”

“But get this, Sirius…” James sat up. “There’s one thing she said that actually gave me an idea. She threatened me…she said, ‘When I find proof, I’ll have found evidence that you and Sirius are up to no good.’ Something like that.”

“Harsh, mate.” There was a rustle of bedding that meant Sirius was sitting up. “So? What’s that mean for us, other than more danger?”

“Tell me what you think of this.” James sat up straighter. “I swear that I am up to no good.”

Sirius laughed. “You know, that’s got a ring to it! I like it.”

James smiled. “Thanks.”

“I think I’d throw something else in there, though,” Sirius continued thoughtfully. “Doesn’t seem quite complete to me. How about this?” He cleared his throat. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

“_Solemnly._” James grinned. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” With an ecstatic laugh, he threw himself down on the bed. “That might be a keeper.”

In minutes, he was asleep.


	13. Chapter Thirteen: The Marauders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter experience a shocking turn of events; Snape and Lily continue to be annoying; Professor Rookwood reveals his true intentions.

The night after their conversation with Dumbledore, James and Sirius returned to the library and dove into their research with renewed vigor. There weren’t many days left until school would begin again, and then they knew that there wouldn’t be as much time, so they decided to give their remaining time everything they had.

Those were sleepless nights, for the most part, but they were vividly fun.

Having done all they could with Vanishing, they returned to Charms, dove into Untranfiguring, and dabbled with the Dark Arts. That last one proved risky. The Hogwarts staff had taken extra precautions to prevent students from reading those books, so Sirius had to perform _two _countercurses to allow them to read the books without getting shrieked at.

What they found was that the statue could not possibly be a Dark artefact, which pleased them supremely—James felt better about continuing to go around Dumbledore so long as they weren’t trying to meddle with the Dark Arts. In fact, the statue of the witch disobeyed the three principles that made objects definitely Dark: it did not intend to kill anyone, exert control over anyone, or cause harm. That last one James and Sirius debated, since it had definitely attacked James on the first occasion, but they decided that that wasn’t Dark by nature.

“It’s more like the Erklings we’d run into on our summer vacations,” said Sirius. “They attacked us and even wounded my brother Regulus in the arm, but only because my parents had complete disregard for other creatures’ habitats…they felt threatened, and I’m guessing the statue is enchanted to feel the same way if anyone approaches it.”

“What, exactly, do your parents define as a summer vacation?” James wanted to know.

For the rest of the holidays, they steered clear of McGonagall. She hadn’t said or done anything to try to get them expelled, but James didn’t want to take any chances. Dumbledore had told James that he believed in him, and for the first time in his life James was inspired not to get into trouble.

“Too much trouble,” Sirius amended. “We’re going to get into trouble no matter what they do.”

He was partly right. They did need to keep reading Forbidden books, which was of course against the school rules—but they didn’t get caught, and they stopped staying past midnight, which James figured was good enough.

It helped matters when Remus and Peter came back. Peter arrived first, fresh off of an extremely boring holiday with only his stuffed up parents for company, so naturally he was full of energy and ready to help with the research. Remus took longer. He came back in the evening the day before term started, and he looked sicklier than James had remembered—he was pale and had a pinched sort of look to him, and there was a new scar along the side of his face.

“A tree near my house went rogue, I was in range, and there’s nothing else to it,” said Remus sharply when they asked him for the sixth time.

Other than that, Remus was very interested in what had happened over the holidays. He was disappointed that he had gone home, but informed them that he, too, had done lots of studying and “none of _that _was any kind of illegal.” But he was eager to learn what James and Sirius knew, and James realized for the first time that they knew more than Remus did.

They still couldn’t find any kind of information on Charms and statues, and having everyone back at school made their job more difficult. But Sirius, with his useful Book Silencing charm, had begun to smuggle Forbidden books out of the library one at a time, so the four friends didn’t need to worry about spending hours in the library late at night. They could do it in their dormitory, so long as Kingsley wasn’t watching.

Snape was worse than ever. He came back bragging about a potion he’d invented over Christmas: it was a nasty yellow color, smelled like the boys’ lavatory on a weekend, and if you drank it, your skin would erupt in boils that grew bigger whenever you thought about them.

“He made it because his parents don’t pay any attention to him,” Sirius whispered to James one day as Slughorn was gushing over the potion(“I daresay the great Arsenius Jigger wouldn’t have invented a more perfect formula!”). “He wanted to give it to them for Christmas, I’m sure.”

James laughed. So did Remus, who’d been listening.

Snape, who James was certain had never been a fan of Quidditch, had been following it for weeks and he came back with new facts to whisper at James when Rookwood wasn’t watching.

“You have to be really skinny to be a Seeker for the Irish teams,” he said one day. “Which you could manage, since your parents clearly don’t feed you…except they also, apparently, raised you to be clumsy, so you wouldn’t do at all.”

“Ignore him,” Remus and Peter said as James lunged to his feet.

But shortly after term started, Snape ceased to matter to James, at least as much as he used to—part of James was always going to want to knock him down every time he talked about Quidditch. He’d lost the position unfairly, after all. But for the first time, Snape did no matter—because for the first time, it became apparent that James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter were the brightest students in class.

At first, they weren’t sure how it had happened. They had simply dragged themselves up in the morning, exhausted from a long night of reading and note-taking, had gone to all their usual classes, sat in class whispering about Snape and Evans and waiting until they could get to lunch and talk openly again. But then Flitwick had asked if anyone happened to know any light defensive spells.

“The Levitation Charm,” said Evans.

“The Shrinking Charm,” said Kingsley.

“The Banishing Charm,” said James, remembering that from a book he and Sirius had read the third day of the holidays. They had quickly discarded it, realizing that the statue was invented with such old magic that it could not be banished. “The incantation is Depulso, it’s essentially the opposite of the Summoning Charm, and several duelling masters have—”

He stopped. Everyone was staring at him.

“Well done, Mr. Potter!” Flitwick said at last, looking absolutely amazed. “The Banishing Charm is indeed the opposite of the Summoning Charm in almost every way, and I believe what you were about to say is that many duelling masters found that it could be even more useful than the Summoning Charm in duels, because it could throw one’s opponent away from the duelist.”

James nodded vigorously.

“That is a fourth year spell,” Flitwick went on. “How ever did you learn it?”

James noticed Snape staring at him.

He smiled at Flitwick. “I guess I got bored over Christmas and thought I’d put in a little extra studying.”

“Well, I think it’s fair to say that you did more than a _little _extra studying,” said Flitwick, who was positively beaming. “Fifteen points to Gryffindor!”

Unable to believe his ears, James gaped at his friends, who looked just as shocked. He had never, _ever _been awarded points in class. Come to think of it, he didn’t think he’d ever been awarded points at all.

“Careful,” whispered Remus. “Snape isn’t happy.”

He was right. Snape—and Evans with him—was glowering at them.

“What can he do?” James shot back. “All I did was answer a question.”

“I s’pose you did.” Remus shrugged. “Just be careful, is all I’m saying. We don’t want him to be the reason our plan gets exposed.”

But Snape only found more reasons to be angry, because James’ answer had not been a fluke. The very next day, in Defense Against The Dark Arts, Rookwood asked them a question about a jinx that could be used offensively in a duel. All the students were stumped…except for Sirius.

“The Knockback Jinx, obviously,” he said. “Throws your opponent backwards, and it can also be used to move heavy objects.” Clearly, the boys had researched it in the hopes of moving the statue. But no one else needed to know that.

Rookwood’s eyebrows shot up. “Sirius! This is a surprise.”

Sirius grinned. “Well, I’m full of surprises, Professor.”

“Indeed you are.” Rookwood flourished his wand dramatically. “Ten points to Gryffindor!”

As the students clapped and cheered, and as James, Remus, and Peter pounded Sirius on the back, Snape glared at them from the back of the room. His hand had been raised, too.

In response, James grinned wider.

But the real wonder came several days later. Transfiguration had always been the class that James and Sirius were most dreading, but miraculously, McGonagall had planned a lesson that they happened to know quite a lot about.

“Please be quiet,” she said absent-mindedly, which she always said whether or not there were students talking. “Today we are moving forward. This is a lesson that is usually not begun until second year, but you seem like a bright group of students.” She eyed James and Sirius. “Most of you.”

“Who, us?” Sirius grinned back. “Thanks, Professor.”

James elbowed him sharply.

McGonagall gave Sirius a very dark stare for several seconds before moving on. “As I said, today’s lesson will be more complicated. Therefore, you may all expect three feet of parchment as homework to show that you understand.”

Multiple groans accompanied this statement, but McGonagall did not look perturbed in the slightest. She walked across the room until she was standing in the middle of it, waiting for the full attention of her students.

“Today’s lesson,” she said, “is about the principles of Vanishing.”

James and Sirius’ jaws dropped in unison.

“Vanishing is one of the four areas of Transfiguration,” she continued. “It deals with, as you might expect, vanishing objects. It has only—”

“—one spell,” James and Sirius mouthed along with her, “used to vanish animate and inanimate objects into non-being. This spell is one of the most difficult you will ever learn, and becomes more complicated depending on the size of the object Vanished. It—”

McGonagall had stopped. James and Sirius looked up.

“I can clearly see the two of you mouthing everything I say just a second after I say it,” she said sharply, “in some sort of botched effort to prove to me that you actually know what you are talking about.”

James seethed. That was completely unfair! She only thought they’d been mouthing a second later, because she clearly didn’t think they were bright at all.

“Perhaps you would like to come up for a demonstration,” she said.

Several students ooh-ed and ohh-ed, obviously being of the mind that James and Sirius were about to have the embarrassment of their lives. Snape, in the back, leaned over to Evans, and James listened.

“This is going to be good,” he said. “Watch this.”

Oh, it was most certainly going to be good…just not in the way Snape thought it would.

James smiled. “Actually, Professor, I would.”

This time, giggles filled the room—as James stood up, they grew a little louder.

“This is going to be so funny,” a Hufflepuff girl whispered to her friend.

Peter was shaking his head—Remus yanked on James’ sleeve.

“James!” he hissed. “James, don’t do it!”

Sirius knocked Remus’ arm away. “Remus, you’re brilliant, but for once in your life you’re wrong. Just watch.” He grinned at James. “Go get ‘em.”

James grinned back. By the time he turned back to McGonagall, he was serious.

“I’m waiting, Potter,” McGonagall said softly. She was almost smiling, James realized—she thought that this would be the day when she got James Potter sent to detention. Most likely, she thought he didn’t even know the name of the incantation.

James walked slowly toward the front of the room until he was facing Professor McGonagall. Then he smiled.

“All right,” he said. “What do you want me to do?”

McGonagall gestured to an empty table at the front of the room.

“I would like you to Vanish that,” she said. “If you know so much about Vanishing, it should be easy enough.”

For a moment, James had cause to be worried. The largest object he’d ever Vanished was a small desk, and that had taken practice. Could he really vanish an entire table? He was just a first year, after all…

_You accepted what other students and professors were saying about you, believing—quite falsely—that they somehow understood everything there is to know about you._

Yes. Yes, he could.

_Prove yourself. Prove yourself to Dumbledore. _

“All right,” said James. Then he had an idea. He didn’t need to do it, but it would put things nicely in his hands. “Could you—” He paused for effect, pretending to be hesitant. “Could you step back a little? So I have enough room?”

She would think he was nervous, stalling for time.

She smiled thinly. “Of course, Potter.”

McGonagall stepped back. James drew his wand.

Before moving, he looked at the other students. Snape was resting back in his chair, a look of hungry eagerness on his face. Evans was sitting straight up, the same look of eagerness somehow in her face. Several Hufflepuffs were giggling. Peter looked terrified. Remus had his head in his hands. And Sirius…Sirius had his chair tipped back, his legs were stretched out under the desk, his arms were crossed over his chest, and he had a smug grin on his face.

Sirius believed in him. That was enough.

James ran through the steps in his head. Arm straight. Speak the incantation clearly. Believe you can do it.

_Evanesco. _

He cleared his throat, twirled his arm in a controlled motion, not so much as flicking his wrist, and said, loudly and clearly, “Evanesco.”

Sparks shot from the tip of his wand. They attacked the lower left leg first, shriveling it up, then the next, then traveled on to the top of the table, spinning and whirling across to the back legs, until only a splinter of wood was left for a hair of a second. (James had done that on purpose.) Then it, too, vanished.

For a moment, there was stunned silence, broken by stunned gasps.

Then the entire classroom erupted into applause. It was almost deafening. Slowly, slightly stunned at himself, James lowered his wand and turned around.

McGonagall’s mouth was wide open.

James drank in the sight of that for several seconds, saving the image forever in his brain, before turning to look at Sirius.

Sirius was grinning. Peter was grinning. Remus looked as shocked as McGonagall.

James nodded at them before turning back to McGonagall.

“Well—well done, Potter,” she said, the words sounding slightly garbled, as though they hadn’t wanted to come out. “Yes, well done. Twenty points to Gryffindor.”

After that day, the four boys experienced a shift. Overnight, they had become everyone’s favorite students. The very next week, after Transfiguration, several other first years ran up to them to ask how they had done it. All they would tell them was that they had simply studied very hard. Then, of course, everyone they had talked to began studying harder, reading books night and day—they even caught a Slytherin reading at lunch.

But, of course, none of them learned the things that James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter knew. Because only James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter knew how to read the Forbidden Books.

The miracles only continued. Remus, of course, had always been a good student—he had come to Hogwarts with the intention of it. But now he was even better. Evans had once been faster than him in Charms, and now he beat her to the answer almost every time. Once, she stormed out of class before even Snape could catch up.

In Potions, they still were not excellent—that was the one class that was completely unrelated to the statue. But James had never liked Potions anyway, so he didn’t mind. In Charms, they continued to answer question after question—once, Peter had the answer before anyone else, and everyone except for Peter’s three friends were surprised. Defense Against The Dark Arts, too, became even better than usual. Not only was Rookwood a fantastic professor, for once they were able to answer all his difficult questions.

But the real standout was Transfiguration. Once it had been James and Sirius’ least worst class, one they dreaded every day. Now, despite McGonagall, it was their best. The four boys answered every question correctly. They received full marks on all their homework and exams, were the first to volunteer for demonstrations, and earned Gryffindor at least thirty points each class period. No one understood it. Numerous times, Snape tried to catch them off guard, but he was unable to. They knew more about Transfiguration than any first year ever had.

But they still were not free from McGonagall’s scrutiny—she had known, since the holidays, that something was going on. One day after class, she called James aside.

“Yeah, Professor?” he said lightly. He seriously doubted that she knew what they were up to, but he still needed to be careful.

“I do not know what is happening,” she said tightly, “but somehow, at least you and Sirius Black—if not Mr. Lupin and Mr. Pettigrew along with you—are cheating. It is impossible for a first year to know this much. Vanishing is not learned until fourth year!”

“Well, I assure you, Professor,” said James, his heart pounding, “all we’ve done is study. I promise.”

“I find that hard to believe,” she said, “given that, until this term, you were some of the worst students I have ever taught in my career.”

James shrugged. “Maybe we just found the right motivation.”

McGonagall studied him for a long moment, her black eyes searching his. James was terrified, but held her gaze. She had no reason to believe they weren’t innocent unless he gave her one. And that he did not intend to do.

Finally, she stepped back.

“Perhaps,” she said. “And there is nothing I can do to prove you wrong. But be warned, Potter…” She wagged a finger in his face. “Be warned that I will be watching you, from now until the moment you cross the lake again seven years from now!”

When James told the others about the conversation, none of them were worried.

“What can she do?” said Remus, setting his book aside. “She can try all she wants, but you told us that Dumbledore said he would never expel you until you’d proven yourself.”

“_You’re _worried?” scoffed Peter. “You’re the reason we’re even this deep in illegal books to begin with! Believe me, James, there’s just no reason to be worried.” He smiled. “You’re brilliant, anyway. You got away from her today, you’ll do it again.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Sirius said through a mouthful of Bertie Botts’ Every Flavor Beans. “What can she do? We’ve got Dumbledore on our side.”

“Yeah, maybe.” James flopped down on his bed. “I still say she’s onto us.”

“Bloody bones!” Sirius whistled from the corner. “Vomit and Sea Salt do _not _taste good together.”

But they didn’t have time to worry about McGonagall, because a few days into March, there was another surprise. And this one both relieved their worry and increased it.

Professor Rookwood had seemed more distracted lately. A week earlier, he’d ended class early, and throughout each session he was periodically checking his watch, looking around nervously, and clearing his throat. The passionate professor was almost nonexistent—he almost never taught them anything new these days, and was much quieter. All in all, his demeanor was almost that of a guilty person.

“I know the three of you hold Rookwood up as the most brilliant man in the school,” Remus told them over lunch, “but even you need to admit this is getting really suspicious. I think we need to talk to him.”

The others agreed. They hadn’t spoken about it, but in the last weeks they had gradually dropped their glowing opinion of Rookwood—even Sirius. It had taken them a while, but they realized that the professor was not the same man he had been at the beginning of the year.

Class on Thursday was more of the same. Rookwood arrived several minutes late, stammered nervously about the importance of the Disarming Charm and its many uses—which he did not demonstrate—before assigning them a reading and dismissing class early. As the students cleared out, Remus gave a nod, and together, they walked forward.

Professor Rookwood was at his desk, scribbling something hastily and muttering to himself. He didn’t even look up as they approached, seeming too distracted, and they waited there for several minutes.

At last James cleared his throat. “Er…Professor?”

With a shout and a jump, Rookwood looked up. “Boys! Oh—oh, yes, yes, my four star students.” He stuttered. “W-what are you doing? Class is dismissed!”

“Well, it shouldn’t be,” said Sirius. “We wanted to talk.”

“Talk?” Rookwood gave a laugh that sounded as though he were trying very hard to sound light-hearted. “What—what about? Boys, really. Class is dismissed, and—”

“It’s like we said. It shouldn’t be.” Remus stepped forward. “Professor, pardon me for saying this, but it’s been my belief since the beginning of the year that you’ve been up to something. You were teaching us so much, everyone loved you, you made demonstrations that humiliated some students.”

“Well, that was Snivellus, so we don’t care,” Sirius muttered.

“Shut it, Sirius.” Remus elbowed Sirius sharply before continuing. “What I thought—and what we all think, now—is that you are doing something that you are not supposed to, that even Dumbledore would not approve of, and it’s high time you told us, because we are students, you are our teacher, and we are not getting anything out of your lessons!”

Rookwood looked desperately between the four of them.

“You’re—you’re right,” he said, sweat trickling down the bridge of his nose. “I am. I am doing something I’m not supposed to be doing. I have been teaching you things you should not have known this year, things too dangerous for you to know.”

Remus spread his arms. “I knew it. I was expecting this.”

“No, no, you don’t understand! I’m not a criminal!” He took a deep, shuddering breath before standing up and looking each of them in the eye. “You are, all of you, at risk—not just you, but every student in this school!” He leaned forward, planting his hands on the desk. “There is a threat coming, something from outside this school, something that has been stirring for years, that I cannot stop alone. I have been teaching you all this in order to protect you, but besides you four, no one has learned anything and because of it we are all in very grave danger!” 


	14. Chapter Fourteen: An Inside Threat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Professor Rookwood enlists the help of James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter; the boys begin to suspect Remus of hiding something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh! So sorry it's taken me a while to update, but this year has been CRAZY for me! I'll try to get the next chapters up faster.

James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter stared at Rookwood.

_“What?” _they said at once.

“Now…” Rookwood licked his lips. “Now, boys, I know it comes as a bit of a shock, but you’ve got to believe me. Do you remember when…when that Acromantula was found dead?”

“Yeah,” James said, careful not to give anything away. “Sort of.”

Did Rookwood know about that? Did he know who was causing it? James wondered now. This threat…the professor sounded out of his mind, but then so would they, if they mentioned what _they’d _been up to all year.

“It is evidence,” Rookwood said, “of…” He sighed. “I can only tell you this if you promise not to pass it on to anyone else, it is very sensitive information and I—”

“You could get fired?” Peter asked.

“No.” Another drop of sweat trickled down Rookwood’s cheek. “Killed.”

All four boys shared incredulous looks.

It was wild, insane—but James also did trust Professor Rookwood; and come to think of it, Remus had been acting a bit odd himself lately. Not that something wasn’t always odd about him, but they’d all accepted that now.

James shrugged at Sirius. “I think…”

Sirius nodded.

Remus shot both them a glare.

James elbowed him.

Peter made a gesture toward the professor, smiled, and shrugged.

_We’re all terrible at nonverbal communication, _thought James, but then at last Remus sighed.

“All right, fine,” he said. “I’ve been outvoted.”

Rookwood raised an eyebrow, but otherwise didn’t say anything. “All right. So, regarding the Acromantula, perhaps…perhaps you’ve suspected.” He leaned forward. “There is a spy inside this school, and I’m certain that they are using Dark Magic.”

Remus frowned. “And…who is it?”

“I…” Rookwood groaned. “I can’t tell you.”

Now James felt himself beginning to get suspicious again.

“Why not?” he demanded. “Why the bloody hell can’t you?”

“Because…because _I don’t know who they are!_”

“Well.” Sirius rolled his eyes. “That’s really fortunate, isn’t it?”

“That’s…” Rookwood wiped the sweat from his face. “That’s why I’m _asking _you, don’t you understand? I’m a professor, and a new one at that; if I tried anything people would be suspicious! But you? You’re four boys. You’re first years. No one will suspect you.”

James frowned. He had to admit that was beginning to make sense, but…

“But why us?” he wanted to know. “You could’ve picked any four kids in the school, why’d you pick us? Why not Evans, or Shacklebolt? Or for that matter, why a first year at all?”

For the first time that day, Professor Rookwood smiled. 

“Mr. Potter,” he said with a twinkle in his eye, “I don’t know if you realize this, but you are the best students in the class.”

James hadn’t realized it, and it seemed that none of the others had either. They were speechless.

“Well,” Remus said at last, “er…thank you, sir.”

Rookwood nodded. “You’re very welcome.”

“But if you want us to do this,” he went on, “how do you know we’re going to be protected? I mean…it’s got to be pretty dangerous.”

In the blink of an eye, Sirius had turned his head to glare at Remus; clearly he didn’t like the idea of them shirking at the idea of danger, and James wasn’t too fond of it either…but Remus also, most likely, knew what he was doing.

“Not yet,” he muttered to Sirius.

“Fine,” Sirius ground out, “but if he gets us mocked for the rest of our lives—”

“Oh, I think that Dumbledore likes the four of you,” Rookwood said lightly. “On occasion, he’s spoken very highly of you to me.”

For the second time that day, the four boys were speechless.

“Well…all right, then,” Remus went on, sounding less and less sure of himself. “Er…what does this fellow look like? The spy, I mean?”

“That’s the thing,” Rookwood said quietly. “I don’t know. But,” he went on as Remus opened his mouth, “I have seen traces. Throughout the school.”

“Traces?” Peter frowned. “What do they look like?”

“Like they don’t belong,” Sirius said before Rookwood could go on; then, seeming to realize he’d spoken out of turn, he paled. “Er…sorry.”

“No, no, go on,” said Rookwood, turning toward Sirius. “Please.” He smiled. “Maybe you’ll explain better even than me.”

“Well, sir, I highly doubt that, given you’re the Defense Against The Dark Arts professor,” said Sirius with that expression that meant he was all too pleased with himself. “But, yeah, I think I might.”

James rolled his eyes.

“It’s not always easy,” Sirius went on. “Looking for traces of Dark Magic, I mean. But if you know what you’re looking for, sometimes you can feel it, like something’s not quite right…you might hear things if you listen…anything out of place, anything that feels like it shouldn’t be here. Every time I walk past my mum’s china set, it’s like I feel someone…looking at me.” He shuddered. “But no one’s there.”

Not for the first time, James felt a twinge of sadness for Sirius.

“That’s it exactly,” Rookwood said, getting to his feet. “Well done, Sirius.” He frowned. “Your parents are Orion and Walburga Black, aren’t they?”

Sirius curled his lip. “Unfortunately.”

“You’ll have to give them my regards,” the professor said dryly, in a tone that indicated that he was not fond of the Blacks.

“Oh, I will,” said Sirius, in the same tone. To James, he whispered: “I’ll give them my regards, all right—with a Stinging Hex.”

James laughed, but at the same time he wished they’d change the subject. Sirius’ relationship with his parents always disturbed him, though he hadn’t seen much of it.

“So,” said Rookwood. “You know what to look for.”

“Thanks, sir,” said James. “You know, I think we should tell you that we’re…” He scratched the back of his neck. “I s’pose we’ve already been on this fellow’s tail ourselves.”

“James!” shouted Remus, as if he’d just realized what James was saying.

_Oh, _James thought, _I wonder if I shouldn’t have said that. _

Professor Rookwood _seemed _trustworthy…

But all the same, they _had _been trying to keep their…exploits hidden from anyone else.

“Sorry,” he muttered, looking up at Rookwood fearfully.

But, to his absolute surprise, Rookwood smiled.

“I know,” he said.

Remus blinked. “I’m sorry, you what?”

“You _know?” _squeaked Peter.

“But—” James stammered. “But how?”

“I’m the Defense Against The Dark Arts professor,” chuckled Rookwood. “There’s very little that misses me. However…these past few weeks, of course…” He waved it off. “No matter. I’ve explained that to you anyway. But yes, I do know what you’ve been up to. And not only does it explain why you suddenly became so good at school—but it’s also the reason I decided I could trust you. You and I want to know the same thing: how did an Acromantula get into the school?”

“We—” James started, but this time he decided he’d better check to see if the other three supported him.

Sirius nodded. Peter gave him a thumbs up. Remus sighed.

That would have to do.

“We think we know _where _it got in,” he said, turning back to Professor Rookwood.

The professor brightened, the dark shadows under his eyes seeming to vanish. “You do? Really?”

“Yeah,” Sirius chimed in. “There’s this statue of a one-eyed witch—on the third floor.”

“One-eyed witch…” Rookwood seemed to be thinking. “I think I know what statue you’re talking about. Have you gotten in yet?”

“No,” said Peter dejectedly. “That’s what we’ve been trying to figure out. But we’re trying!” he added hopefully.

“It’s how we became so smart,” Sirius said.

“How _you _became so smart,” Remus muttered.

“But, this spy,” James went on, a sudden thought having crossed his mind, “do you think…it’s…a teacher?”

“Maybe,” Rookwood replied, but he looked unsure.

“A student,” he said, and he saw the answer in Rookwood’s face. But…that was shocking, to say the least. “You think it’s a student? This Dark Magic user…is a _student?”_

“It’s…possible,” Rookwood admitted. “Not the ultimate culprit, mind you, I don’t think they’re even in Hogwarts—but this student is working for them, of their own will, I believe. Now, don’t go getting any ideas,” he added quickly. “I don’t want you to spread rumors. I do not want this to sour any relationships you might have with anyone, and I _definitely _don’t want _anyone else _hearing about this. Is that understood?”

He looked at them sternly.

All four boys nodded vigorously, if only to get him to move on.

“That said, I believe it may be a student instead of a teacher because…many of the traces I have found…are _amateur. _They are definitely well-learned, but too obvious to belong to any teacher.”

“Really?” Sirius frowned. “We haven’t seen any.”

“That’s because you are first years,” Rookwood said gently, “and this is not an insult to your ability, but rather a testament to this student’s ability. We must proceed with extreme caution…but as I am a teacher, and know very well how to detect the Dark Arts, I have discovered them. I don’t know who is casting these spells, or who let the Acromantula into the castle, but it is clearly a student. However…you must understand…”

“_That’s _why you can’t risk drawing suspicion,” James realized out loud. “You’re a new teacher. If you come out blindly accusing a student, or even trying to hunt them down—”

“I’d get thrown out of the school,” Rookwood said. “Dumbledore is very protective of his students, and in most cases that is a good trait of his…I remember when I was a student here…but in this case, it works against me. And that is why I’m trusting _you.” _Once again, he smiled; even a few minutes with them seemed to have increased his faith in himself, and James was glad of it. “Now, I might have come across as suspicious in these months…I apologize, and I am glad that I am able to speak so openly with you now. But I must confess, before the year began, I received a very threatening message, from an unknown person. _You have been warned, _I was told, _that I have infiltrated Hogwarts. You must not come to teach the students how to defend against the Dark Arts; or else, by the end of the year, I will cause several students to perish. _Naturally, I came right away.”

Sirius grinned. “I’d have done that too. I knew there was a reason I liked you, Professor.”

Rookwood returned the smile, but went on. “Dumbledore knows about this note; there is no need to tell him about it. I told him immediately, and together we have been working to stop the Darkness invading the school…but this student is obviously protected by his or her employer. We do not know what year they are in, only that they are very skilled…for a student. They must have been privately instructed by this enemy of mine.” He frowned. “Do you have any ideas?”

James didn’t have to rack his brain. He knew in a minute.

“Snape,” he said. “Sorry, sir, but I think Severus Snape is the culprit.”

At his side, Sirius and Peter nodded; Remus looked reproachful, but remained silent.

“Snape?” Rookwood looked surprised. “But he’s a first year, Mr. Potter.”

“Er…yeah,” James said, “but—but he’s really experienced—one of the best students in Potions—”

“Potions, yes,” Rookwood said, “and I would not discount your suspicion, but…this student will have to be skilled in the _Dark Arts. _And, as far as I’m concerned, dark potions are not mentioned until at least the third year.”

“Well—well, yeah,” James said, racking his brain to think of any dark potions his dad might’ve mentioned, “but—but still, Professor—”

“Snape may be a candidate,” Rookwood said, “but in this case…I’m sorry, but I think it might come from a personal place.”

Oh, it came from a _very _personal place. That didn’t stop the fact that Snape had tried to sabotage James from the minute he arrived at Hogwarts.

He opened his mouth, but Remus grabbed his arm.

“Yeah, it’s probably not Snape,” he said, “but there are loads of candidates, Professor, and we know a lot of them. We’ll find your culprit, I promise you.”

Rookwood heaved a sigh of relief—James could tell that a gigantic load had just been taken off his shoulders, and with difficulty, he forced all thoughts of Snape from his mind.

“Thank you, boys,” he said honestly. “All of you. This means a great deal to me.” With a last smile, he retook his seat. “I will speak with you in a month. Until then…find out what you can, but above all…” The smile left his face. “Stay safe.”

“I _told _you,” said Sirius the minute they were free of Rookwood’s classroom. “Remus, I told you!”

Remus scowled. “Told me what?”

“Oh, don’t be so dense,” Sirius shot back. “I told you Rookwood wasn’t a bad fellow, and you went on complaining that he was sneaky, he had ulterior motives—”

“All right, you told me,” Remus snapped, sounding more irritable than usual. “Why go on about it? We’re all on the same side now, we know he’s good, and more than that, he’s willing to support us. James didn’t have to tell him about that _statue, _though,” he added with a glare at James.

“I said I was sorry,” James said defensively, not understanding why Remus was so snappish all of a sudden. “At least we’ve got a common ally now.”

“_I _knew Rookwood was a good person,” Peter piped up. “I never said anything against him!”

“Yeah, but I was still his biggest supporter,” Sirius crowed. “Come on, let’s go off to the common room!” He rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Can’t wait to see who looks the most suspicious. Y’know, James, you’re right, I bet it’s Snivellus.”

“Course it is, and Rookwood knows it,” James said. “He’s just being nice.”

Laughing, they hurried toward the stairs—but as they started to climb, James realized it was only him, Sirius, and Peter. Remus wasn’t with them.

“Oi!” He turned around; Remus was starting to sneak off. “Remus! Where are you going?”

“I…just remembered,” Remus said quickly. “I can’t come right away.”

Sirius crossed his arms. “Well, why not?”

“My dad sent me a letter last night,” he said. “My mum’s really sick, I have to go and see her.”

That sounded like an excuse above anything else, but for the first time, James noticed that Remus _himself _looked sick. His face was pale, and he had a pinched look to him. In fact, he almost looked like Snape on an ordinary day, and that in itself was bad.

“You’re going home?” Peter asked, looking stricken. “She’s that bad?”

“Yeah, I won’t be gone long,” Remus said. “Just a few days, but…I haven’t seen her since Christmas, if anything happens…”

“Yeah, we understand,” James said. “Take as long as you need.”

“But not too long,” Sirius added. “We wouldn’t want you to miss the investigation! You’re the smartest of us, you know,” he added.

Surprisingly, that almost undid Remus completely; his face crumpled for a split second before he recovered, but they’d all seen it.

“Of course I won’t miss it,” he said. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Then, with a short wave, he hurried away.

“Wonder what that was all about?” asked Peter.

“I dunno.” James looked as Remus vanished. “I’m worried about him. He hasn’t seemed himself for a few days, and he…he looked ready to crack.”

“Hmm.” Sirius seemed to be thinking—both James and Peter turned to look at him. “Do you think there’s something Remus isn’t telling us?”

It was strange to carry on with the situation without Remus, but not too difficult—he disappeared from time to time anyway. This was just the first time he’d had to go home. So, while saving plenty for when he returned, James, Sirius, and Peter got to work spying on various students around the school.

However, with over a thousand students in the entire school, that was a difficult task. Right off the bat, the three boys decided on certain parameters for picking someone as a suspect: the suspect had to be either leaving or arriving at different times than everyone else. The suspect had to be very good at magic. The suspect had to _act _like they were hiding something, such as refusing to answer questions. And finally, the suspect had to be an outsider—because, as Peter suggested, anyone who was hiding something wasn’t likely to have many friends.

“Brilliant, Peter,” Sirius said. “How d’you know all that?”

“I dunno, I watch people,” Peter said with a shrug—and then he smiled rather sheepishly. “I thought you two were suspicious before I became your friend, you’re outsiders.”

James had to admit that that was probably true. “Fair enough.”

Unfortunately, the new parameters were not very helpful, because the first suspect who fit all four was the prefect, Davey Gudgeon. He was a sixth year, and thus was excellent at magic; he was quiet, and besides his girlfriend and inner circle, he didn’t have many friends; he often looked grumpy, and wouldn’t answer any questions; and, naturally, being a prefect, he was the first to leave in the morning and the last to arrive at night.

“Bloody bones,” James muttered as they watched him huff and puff his way up to his dormitory. “This is going to be harder than we thought.”

“Well, he _could _be the culprit,” Sirius said thoughtfully. “He’s been angry at us since the beginning of the year—”

“Yeah, that’s because we acted like idiots,” said James.

“Okay. That hurts, Potter, but okay. But all the same—all those secretive looks he gives everyone—”

“Again, Sirius, he has to watch all of us,” sighed James. “It’s his _job.” _

“But—”

“Sirius, _drop it!” _

“This is why we need Remus,” said Peter.

Following Davey Gudgeon, the next suspect was Kingsley Shacklebolt. He was a first year, but all the same he was very good at magic, he liked to keep to himself, and he didn’t have a great amount of friends. The only problem was that he had a rather ordinary schedule—he always got to class on time and never arrived late.

All the same, they decided they’d better ask. After all, he did sleep in their dormitory, which made things easier.

“Oi, Shacklebolt,” said Sirius one night, going over to sit next to him.

Kingsley immediately seemed to recognize that something was out of place. With a sigh, he put down his Potions book.

“Something’s up,” he said. “You never come over here to talk.”

“Well…we’re usually busy,” said James.

“Yeah, right,” said Kingsley. “Busy getting yourselves into trouble.”

“_Kingsley,” _said Sirius, sounding insulted. “How could you say that? We always do our homework, we’re model students—”

“As of the last several weeks,” said Kingsley, rather imperiously. “You know, you always look like you’re hiding something, the four of…the three of you,” he added with a frown. “Where’s Lupin?”

“He…had to see his mum,” said Peter, and it suddenly struck James that that would seem a very poor excuse.

It _was _a very poor excuse, but at least they trusted Remus.

Kingsley raised an eyebrow. “A likely story. And that just helps my case. What _are _you hiding?”

Sirius opened his mouth, but James cut him off.

“Forget it,” he said, realizing that Kingsley had somehow turned things around on them so that _they _were the ones being interrogated. “Let’s just leave him alone, clearly he’s got things to do.”

“You should be doing them, too, you know,” said Kingsley as they headed off to James’ bed, where they could talk quietly. “Even these days, Potions isn’t exactly your greatest subject.”

“We know,” said Sirius. “But we don’t really care. _You_ weren’t the one who vanished a table in front of the entire Transfiguration class, you know.”

A thunderstorm came in that night, which meant that there would be no more snooping around the grounds—instead, the three boys sat on James’ bed and brainstormed.

“I think we should move on to the Slytherins,” Sirius suggested. “We’re getting nothing out of anyone here.”

James agreed. How he’d long to prove to Rookwood that Snape was guilty…

“Maybe,” said Peter worriedly. “But we’ll have to be careful…we can’t let ourselves be discovered.”

“No.” Sirius glanced at James. “Y’know, Snivellus fits all four…”

James had been waiting for that—he still longed to get revenge on Snape for causing him to flunk Quidditch tryouts. “He does, all right. What do you say about tailing him tomorrow?”

“Not a bad idea,” said Sirius. “But it can’t be all of us…he’s really suspicious of everyone. He’s just waiting for you to try and do something, James.”

“Little git,” James muttered. “Of course he is, he’s the reason I’m not in Quidditch.”

“I’ll follow him,” said Peter.

Sirius frowned. “You sure? You just said we need to be—”

“Careful, I know, but that’s why I’m saying it. He’ll expect you two to do something…not me. No one ever suspects me.”

“I guess that’s true,” said James reluctantly. He’d wanted to be the one to follow Snape, to catch him outright…but Peter had a point. Besides, the most important thing was not failing Professor Rookwood.

“Besides…” Peter’s shoulders slumped. “I’ve been so scared of everything the whole year, I haven’t felt like I belong in Gryffindor. This…this is my chance to do something brave.” He straightened up. “I’m going to do it, and I’m not going to be scared.”

“Good for you, Pete.” Sirius patted Peter’s shoulder. “It’s set then. You tail Snivellus, we’ll go about our day like usual, you report back to us…then when Remus comes back, we’ll make our next move.”

Out of nowhere, something screamed. All three boys, so focused, jumped—but it was coming from outside.

“Wonder what that is,” murmured James. “A banshee?”

“Oh, no,” said Peter. “I hate banshees.”

“I dunno, but…” Sirius looked out the window. “It’s that shack, y’know?”

James frowned. “Out by Hogsmeade, right?”

They’d never been allowed to go to Hogsmeade—that wouldn’t come until third year, unfortunately—but he knew about the shack. He’d heard noises coming from there before, but he’d guessed it was rain, or something. Now he wasn’t so sure—because it was storming, but that scream was definitely not part of it.

“Shrieking Shack, it’s called,” Sirius said. “I heard some Slytherins talking about it. It’s supposed to be haunted.”

Peter shuddered. “I’m going to bed. See you in the morning.”

Wrapping his robe around himself, he climbed off James’ bed, climbed into his own, and pulled the curtains.

The rain continued to pour, and James lay back.

“I hope Remus isn’t out in that,” he said.

Sirius looked at him. “You really think he’s with his mum?”

“Yeah.” James sat up. “You think he’s not?”

“Maybe.” Sirius scratched his chin. “This isn’t the first time he’s been gone.”

“No, it’s not.” James peered around, checking to see where Kingsley was—but his books were no longer spread out. He must have gone to sleep. “But if he’s not at home, then where is he? And what’s he doing?”

Sirius shook his head. “I dunno. I just hope he’s okay.”


	15. Chapter Fifteen: James' Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The four boys set out on their quest to prove Snape guilty...but there is a development that none of them are aware of.

Remus returned not the next morning but the morning after that, looking out of sorts but much better than when he’d left. When asked about his mother, he told them that she was perfectly fine, then moved onto business. He wanted to know what they’d planned—and soon, any curiosity about where Remus had actually been was left far behind. 

“Peter’s going?” Remus said in surprise, and James expected him to be doubtful about it, so he was extremely surprised when he added, “Not a bad idea.”

Peter’s face brightened. “Really?”

“Of course,” Remus said tartly. “Everyone’s suspicious of James and Sirius by now—no offense, either of you.”

“None taken,” said Sirius with a grin. “Trust me.”

James didn’t feel exactly the same. He’d been able to ignore it for so long, to simply enjoy the friendship he had with Sirius especially—but now that he thought about it, his parents would be so disappointed if they knew what he’d been up to. He’d gone to school expecting to become a star student, for them…and instead he’d become a troublemaker. In all his letters to his parents, he’d tried to make it sound like he was doing well at school, like nothing was happening—and while he felt terrible for lying, he knew what would happen if they knew what their son was _really _up to. His parents weren’t anything near what Sirius’ parents were like; all they wanted was for James to be a good kid. And that was exactly what he hadn’t done.

Remus frowned, and James wondered if his friend had guessed what he was thinking.

“Anyway,” Remus said lightly, “I think it’s time to put the plan in motion. Peter, are you ready?”

Peter’s shoulders drooped.

_Oh, no, _thought James. He and Sirius exchanged worried looks. Peter always had problems doing anything risky…James had thought this was a sign things were changing for the better, but…

“Yes,” Peter said.

James blinked. He hadn’t expected that.

“Good,” Remus said, looking satisfied. “Tail our old friend Snivellus, and you two—” He shot Sirius and James a look. “We can’t let him know we’re onto him. You had better not act suspicious.”

Sirius glared at Remus. “We ought to ask you the same question, shouldn’t we?”

“No,” Remus said patiently, “because I don’t walk around looking like I want to kill Snape.”

James sighed. This was about him, he knew it was—they knew he hadn’t gotten past Snape getting him kicked out of Quidditch tryouts.

Not that he still wasn’t angry about that, but for this instance he had to try to be better.

“It’s me you’re worried about,” he said. “Don’t worry, Remus. Snape won’t know a thing.”

Remus nodded slowly. “He’d better not.”

Not acting suspicious around Snape was more of a struggle than James had thought it would be. The previous night, the Gryffindor Quidditch team had crushed Hufflepuff in a match that James had grudgingly watched from his dormitory window, and he’d had to admit it—the team was great. But of course, Snape happened to have seen it as well, which meant he was going to taunt James throughout the day.

James was actually enjoying his History of Magic lesson when he felt someone lean forward behind him.

“You know, Potter,” said Snape’s voice in his ear, too soft to be heard, “the Gryffindor team is doing better this year. Better than I thought they would, actually.”

“Yeah,” James whispered back—Binns was too old to hear anything they said to each other, he’d just keep droning on. “I’ve been to the matches. Now would you shut up?”

Snape did not shut up.

“Then you must have noticed,” he said softly, “how wonderful their Seeker is?”

James clenched his fists under the table. Snape wouldn’t be caught dead complimenting the Gryffindor Quidditch team…but clearly, tormenting James trumped that. Snape _knew _that was the position he wanted, he knew it…

_Just wait, _thought James, reaching for his wand. _I’ll perform the Vanishing spell wrong so that bug behind you multiplies…_

Then James saw Remus watching him.

Remus shook his head.

Fuming, James fell silent, sat back, and pretended to be listening to the lesson.

“No answer to that, Potter?” Snape went on. He was very obviously enjoying having gotten to James. “Suit yourself. No one ever said you _needed _to be good at Quidditch.”

“I _am _good,” James said through clenched teeth. “You just decided to ruin my chances of getting on the Quidditch team.”

_“I _did?” Snape was pretending to sound shocked. “I don’t think the professors would want to hear you accusing another student, would they?”

_I’ll find grounds soon enough, _James wanted to say.

“Hey, James,” said Sirius in a low voice. “What d’you think Binns meant by that?”

“I dunno,” James snapped, “but can you—”

He broke off. Sirius was trying to distract him, not let Snape get to him.

James turned red. It had only taken a few _minutes, _and he’d already almost blown their cover. For today, he could not antagonize Snape.

“Sure,” he said, lowering his voice, because the ever monotonous Professor Binns had chosen that moment to look in their direction. “So, the thing is, in the twelfth century…”

Two seats ahead, Peter Pettigrew turned around and smiled at them.

James felt marginally better.

The day went on in this way—Snape must have been able to tell that something was going on, and he kept trying to get a rise out of James…but Remus and Sirius was there, Peter was on the move, and after the near disaster that History of Magic had been, James was _not _going to let Snape get to him.

Not at all.

But Snape’s words had revived a question he’d long since forgotten about: how exactly _had _Snape caused him to screw up his Quidditch trials? Slytherins hadn’t been allowed outside at all. There must have been some secret room, some place near the entrance where Snape had performed his spell…but where?

And how could an eleven-year-old perform spells from that far away?

That only confirmed James’ theory that Snape had secret knowledge of the Dark Arts, and just might be the spy Rookwood was looking for.

“I think it’s him,” he said when they stopped in the Great Hall for lunch. “It’s got to be, regardless of what Peter finds.”

“Listen, James, I hate him as much as you do,” Sirius said. “But why?”

“Don’t you remember Quidditch? He jinxed my broom and he was _inside _the whole time! Who else could it have been?”

“Shh,” Remus said. Snape was walking past their table.

“He knows something,” Peter whispered after Snape was gone. “He knows what we’re up to, doesn’t he?”

“Not exactly,” Remus said, scratching his chin. “He does know _something, _I think that’s obvious. But this isn’t the place to talk about it. How about we—”

He raised his hand to take a drink of water and flinched. For some reason, that had caused him pain.

“Remus?” At once, James, Sirius, and Peter leaned forward.

“What’s going on?” Sirius asked. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Remus said irritably, backing away from the three of them. “Just bashed my elbow last night, that’s all.” Abruptly, he gathered up his books. “I’m going to the library.”

And without another word, he walked away.

“That’s odd,” Peter said.

“Odd,” James echoed. It was concerning, but not particularly strange; things like that happened all the time. “Why would you say that?”

“Remus isn’t exactly the type of person to go running into walls,” Peter explained. “Have you ever seen him make clumsy mistakes?”

James looked at Sirius. Sirius stared back at him, and seemed to come to the same conclusion.

“No,” they said together.

“Then there was the bit over the weekend,” Peter went on softly. “With his mum.”

James had almost forgotten about Remus disappearing for the weekend, to see his mum. But…this was yet _another _incident. It was suspicious.

“Blimey,” Sirius said. “D’you think there’s something Remus isn’t telling us?”

Following lunch, they went their separate ways—James and Sirius followed Remus to the library, and Peter went off to trail Snape further. James wanted to talk to Remus about what was going on, and he could tell Sirius did as well; but that was out of the question. Remus was sitting curled up in the corner, hunched over a book, and didn’t look up as they came in.

“So,” James said, feeling very awkward, “when do we talk to Rookwood next?”

Remus sighed in relief, and his face lit up—he seemed relieved to not have to discuss whatever was going on with him.

_Which I’m going to find out eventually, _he thought.

“We have Defense Against the Dark Arts in two hours,” he said. “I was thinking we might do it after that.”

Sirius frowned. “You think he should know what we’ve been up to with…”

James elbowed him. Lily Evans was in the library.

“Yes.” Remus glanced around. “But this isn’t the place to talk about it. We’ve got Potions next, let’s go.”

“Potions,” Sirius groaned. “My _favorite class. _Wonderful.”

Snape teased James further in Potions, which was easy due to the fact that it was James’ worst class—but this time, James was determined not to give in. He sat next to Remus, followed what Slughorn was saying, and stared straight ahead the entire time. He was so focused that, towards the end of the demonstration, he was actually able to name the correct amount of flobberworm mucas to be put into a Confusing Concoction.

“Potter!” Professor Slughorn looked his way with a smile. “This is a surprise, I must say, but very well done. Ten points to Gryffindor!”

This time, James couldn’t help looking over his shoulder. Snape was seething.

Following Potions, it was Defense Against The Dark Arts—and, to James’ relief, Professor Rookwood seemed much more like himself this time around. The lesson, which was on hexes and how best to both perform and deflect them, was extremely fun. This was owing partly to the fact that Rookwood performed the Tickling Hex on stiff Kingsley Shacklebolt, and the result was extremely hilarious to watch. 

Kingsley left looking more irritated than usual, and the rest of the class left crying tears of laughter. James looked at Sirius and Remus.

“Well?” he said. “Now?”

“Now,” Remus said.

“What about Peter?” Sirius wanted to know.

But Peter wasn’t back yet—James didn’t know how they would have found him. He didn’t want to interrupt the mission.

“We’ll have to do it without him,” he said. “We’ve got to let him focus.”

His friends nodded, and together they approached Professor Rookwood.

When Rookwood saw them, his face lit up with a brilliant smile. James felt better instantly—he’d had his doubts, but they really were helping him. He was such a new professor, after all, with so much on his shoulders; maybe they were only first year students, but Rookwood didn’t deserve to deal with all this alone.

“Well, boys!” Rookwood exclaimed. “It’s wonderful to see you. How are things?”

“Making progress, sir,” James said. “We suspect that Severus Snape may be the student helping your culprit.”

“Severus Snape?” Rookwood echoed. He frowned. “Yes, he does tend to have a suspicious air about him. But what other reasons have you found? I would not apprehend someone based just on _that.” _

_I would if they were Snivellus, _James thought, but didn’t think he should say that.

“Of course not, Professor,” Remus said. “But Snape already knows things about the Dark Arts. He talks about it frequently—and we believe he may have put a jinx on James to keep him from being on the Quidditch team.”

“Hmm, that does change things,” Rookwood murmured thoughtfully. “Jinxes are serious things. This is slightly advanced, but…you three are very advanced wizards anyway. Well. We spoke about hexes today, which are certainly permissible—” He leaned in, as if to tell a secret. “And they can be _extremely _hilarious when you want to play a practical joke.”

Sirius grinned. “You’re speaking my language there, sir.”

“But jinxes,” Rookwood went on, “can tend towards being dark. Did Snape do this?”

“We…” James sighed, trying to appear as if he were sad and downcast. “We don’t know if he did it or not—but from the beginning of the year he didn’t really want me on the Quidditch team. And during tryouts, my broom…it was like it took on a life of its own! It was jerking and bouncing all over, and eventually I fell off.”

“And James is _amazing _at flying,” Sirius added.

James grinned at him—he didn’t know what he’d do without Sirius Black.

Rookwood didn’t respond right away. He was thinking. He had one hand on his jaw, and his eyes were narrowed in concentration—clearly, he was weighing what they had just told him, and James really hoped it had been enough. If they got a _professor’s _blessing to expose Snape for what he was…

“You might be right,” Rookwood said, and James felt as though he were flying—he tried desperately to keep from grinning, and continue to look serious. “There is some evidence that Snape may be helping this Dark Arts user get into the castle…but I must stress,” he added gravely, “that you remember Snape is just as young as you are, and only an _assistant. _And furthermore, that at this stage we don’t even know if he _is _guilty. Proceed with caution.”

Sirius nodded. “Of course, sir. We’re only trying to help you.”

Sirius, when he wasn’t goofing off, was an _amazing _liar. James could tell that Sirius wanted Snape apprehended just as badly as he did—but there wasn’t a hint of mischief in his face. He was completely serious.

Then James remembered Sirius’ parents. Of course he was a good liar.

“We won’t let you down, Professor,” Remus said. “Peter will be done with spying by the end of the day. Tomorrow, with any luck, we’ll have our answer.”

“Then, boys,” Rookwood said, “I wish you all the luck in the world.”

For the rest of the day, James, Sirius, and Remus waited in the library—waited for Peter to return from spying on Snape. Hopefully, it would be with the news they’d all been expecting: that James’ enemy was up to no good, that he was maybe even practicing dark magic. James couldn’t imagine that he wasn’t—he’d never actually _seen _Snivellus doing anything, but he always had a dark look about him, and James just knew he’d performed dark magic to jinx his broom. Jinxes were dark, weren’t they?

And who else could have done it?

But at the moment, James had nothing to do but pretend to study, and wait. It was awful work, just waiting there; James didn’t remember ever having to sit still for so _long, _not even to help his dad sort his stupid potions.

His dad.

_I miss my parents, _James realized.

Then he shook his head. He could miss his parents later—he had more important things to worry about at the moment.

So he continued to wait, for what felt like hours…and then, at half past four, Sirius sat up.

“Do you hear that?” he said.

“Hear what?” James asked.

Remus didn’t say anything—he’d fallen asleep, and he looked as if he needed it, so James didn’t wake him up.

“Footsteps,” Sirius said.

James frowned. “Does it…?”

Sirius nodded. “Sounds like Peter.”

Reluctantly, James shook Remus awake. He didn’t want to, his friend looked absolutely exhausted—but he needed to get up.

“What?” Remus mumbled.

“Peter,” James said.

At once, Remus was awake, and looking as irritated as always. “Well, why the bloody hell didn’t you wake me up?”

Neither James nor Sirius said anything.

The footsteps drew closer, and closer—James didn’t think they sounded like Peter, but he was ready anyway.

Then, he could hear Peter’s footsteps, just around the corner.

“So,” he said eagerly, getting to his feet, “what did you find out about—”

Severus Snape rounded the corner, holding a very terrified Peter Pettigrew by the arm.

“So that’s why you were acting so suspicious,” Snape hissed at James. “You sent him to tail me, didn’t you?”

James’ mouth opened and closed, but he couldn’t find the words to say anything—he was too shocked. From Sirius’ and Remus’ silence, he could guess the same about them.

“I—I’m sorry,” Peter stammered. “He caught me following him and—and threatened to turn me over to Filch. I told him everything…”

Secretly, James thought he would’ve allowed himself to be turned over to Filch rather than tell Snape the truth…but then, he shuddered at the idea of being given some awful punishment for whatever accusations Snape could make up.

_Poor Peter, _he thought.

“It’s alright,” he said. “You did the best you could.”

Peter gave him a shaky smile.

“Enough with the sentiment,” Snape sneered. Letting go of Peter, he walked forward until he was face to face with James. “He told me what you all _really _want. You think I’m some sort of mastermind, do you? That I practice the _Dark Arts _in secret?”

James almost looked at Peter, but caught himself just in time.

Peter _hadn’t _told Snape everything. He hadn’t mentioned Rookwood at all, or the fact that they were figuring Snape was only an _accomplice. _

“Er…yeah,” James said. “Yeah, we do.”

“And you intend to tell…a teacher?” Snape, James realized, looked furious—but more than furious, he looked scared. “Do you know what that would do? You’d get me expelled!”

“Yeah, good riddance,” Sirius snapped. “You’ve had it out for us all year—you’ve made it so we can’t succeed at anything, while you climb to the top of the class.”

“And that gives you the grounds to get me expelled?”

“Dumbledore wouldn’t expel you,” James said, remembering what the Headmaster had said to him. “Not by a long shot.” He crossed his arms. “But you’d get some sort of punishment, and we’ve got evidence against you.”

“Yeah?” Snape gave a bitter laugh. “Try me.”

James stared at him. “You jinxed my broom.”

“I—” Snape looked as though he was about to say something, then seemed to change track entirely. He smirked. “I didn’t jinx it. You failed that test on your own. You’re pathetic. It’s not just that you’re a bad student—you’re not even good at the one thing you love most!”

James’ hands shook. At once, there was a pressure on both his shoulders—Sirius and Remus were trying to hold him back—but he didn’t care. He decided he’d had _enough _of sniveling Snivellus and his insults. Snape had made the year terrible for him, and it was time he started standing up for himself.

“Oh, yeah?” he demanded. “Want me to prove it?”

Snape looked, suddenly, very hesitant. “Well—”

“Meet me on the field,” James snarled. “I’ll race you. Down and back. Then we’ll see whether I’m as bad at flying as you say I am!”

“James—” Peter grabbed his arm. “James, no!”

James shook him off and continued to stare Snape down. Snape stared back at him, and his dark, beady eyes narrowed.

“All right,” he said. “You’re on.”

As the afternoon turned to evening, the five boys gathered outside on the Quidditch field. None of Snape’s usual friends had come, not even Evans—James wondered why.

Maybe he was planning on jinxing him again.

But Sirius, Remus, and Peter were all watching. The second Snape did anything, they’d all know. He’d have three witnesses.

“Are we ready?” Sirius asked them. “You’ll race to the end of the field and back.”

“Yeah.” James mounted his Cleansweep Two—he didn’t know what kind of broomstick Snape had, but it certainly wasn’t a Cleansweep.

Snape said nothing. He just nodded sharply.

_He’s afraid, _James thought, and the idea made him giddy. _For the first time this year, I’ll have the upper hand—Snivellus is actually _scared. _He knows he can’t beat me, and if he cheats, I’ll prove myself right._

_I’ll prove myself right anyway. _

“On your marks,” Sirius said—Remus and Peter stood behind him. Peter was white-faced, and Remus just looked disappointed.

James didn’t look at them. He looked at Snape.

At last, Snape would eat his words.

“Go!”

The two boys took off.

At once, all thoughts of Snape were forgotten. Flying again was the most exhilarating feeling in the world. The last time James had ridden his broomstick like this had been in July, racing Pulfrey and the other boys—then there had been Quidditch tryouts, but he didn’t think that counted. No, he hadn’t felt like this in months; it had been so long since he’d flown along faster than any of those Muggle airplanes ever could, since he’d felt the wind blowing his hair into his face and had to struggle to keep his glasses on his nose. Before he knew it, he was approaching the end of the field, and he swooped into a controlled turn—

Snape was _meters _behind him.

He was better than James had expected, but still not good. As he came back, he saw panic race across Snape’s face, and let out a laugh. After all the mocking, all the insults, watching Snape be everyone’s favorite student with the exception of these last few weeks…it was _beautiful. _James grinned.

And Snape’s broom slammed into his.

At once, James was thrown off balance. He’d expected a jinx, but not outright cheating—Snape must be _really _desperate.

Their broomsticks were locked. James turned to glare at Snape.

_You want a competition. I’ll give you a competition. _

James kicked out at Snape’s broom—and that gave him just enough of an opportunity to spur himself forward, even faster than before. The wind was in his hair, and he felt like he was on wings.

James barely heard Sirius yelling to him. Snape was right behind him…he was determined to win….

But _James _was going to win.

He couldn’t let Snape mock him for an entire year and then lose a bet to him.

“James! James, stop!”

James blinked. He’d sped straight past his friends—and he was about to smash right into the castle’s wall. With a yelp, he stopped, his shoes sliding in the dirt, and threw himself off.

Just in time. He’d almost crashed into Hogwarts.

Slowly, he turned around. Snape was standing in front of his friends, looking defeated.

“Well, well, well,” Sirius said. “This proves it, doesn’t it? James is brilliant!”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” Snape hissed. “He’s still good for nothing, still more arrogant than he’s worth—I’ll bet you’re all cheating somehow, that’s the only reason you’ve suddenly become great students.”

“That’s irrelevant,” Remus told him sharply.

“You’re changing the subject,” Peter added.

“And Sirius is right. It proves us all right,” James said. “I’m a better flyer than you are. And that means that I didn’t mess up at tryouts.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You must have interfered.”

“You’re still wrong,” Snape snarled. “You’re all wrong! You’ve got no idea what you’re talking about, you ignorant—”

_“What is the meaning of this?”_

The five boys spun around. Professor McGonagall and Madam Hooch were walking quickly towards them…as well as Lily Evans.

James clenched his fists. Snape must have told her.

“We…” For once, Remus seemed at a loss for words. “We were just…”

“You were _racing,” _Madam Hooch finished. “Which is strictly forbidden without the presence of a teacher! It seems that none of you are on the Quidditch team as well, which only adds to your sentence.”

Quidditch. James saw his opportunity.

“Actually, that’s what this is about,” he said.

“Oh?” McGonagall looked very suspicious. “Do tell, Potter.”

“When I tried out for the Quidditch team, my broom malfunctioned,” he explained. “I didn’t know how it happened—flying is one of the things I’m best at.”

“That is quite obvious, given your scores in Transfiguration,” McGonagall said tartly.

James didn’t think it would be prudent to mention that over the last two weeks, he had become one of the best students in the class.

“Anyway,” he went on, “I’ve had reason to believe that Snape tampered with my broom.”

“And that’s obviously absurd,” Snape said. “Ask anyone, and they’ll say that Potter’s just lying—"

“James is brilliant at flying,” Sirius piped up. 

“Absolutely brilliant,” Peter added.

“He’s better than the Chasers they’ve got for this year,” Remus said, and James raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t thought Remus liked Quidditch.

McGonagall still looked relatively unimpressed, but Madam Hooch turned to look at Snape.

“Severus Snape,” she said, “there is quite the word against you at the moment. And, from what I saw…” She sighed very deeply, as if she regretted what she was about to say. “Mr. Potter is the best first year flyer I have happened to see in my entire career.”

James couldn’t believe it. Sirius grinned, and Peter thumped him on the back.

“I didn’t—” Snape looked wildly between Madam Hooch and Professor McGonagall. “I—I swear! I didn’t jinx his broom!”

“Then prove it,” Sirius said.

“I…” Snape looked, actually, distraught. “I don’t have a way to prove it.”

“Because there isn’t one.” James stepped forward, so that they were nose to nose. “Just admit it. You jinxed my broom, because you don’t want me to succeed for whatever ridiculous reason, because you know the Dark Arts!”

“Would you _shut it?” _demanded a shrill, female voice.

James turned around. It was Evans who’d spoken.

“Snape didn’t jinx your bloody broom,” she said flatly. “I’ll swear by it.”

“Oh, yeah?” James had expected this—of course Evans’d vouch for her best friend. “And how do you know that? How d’you know he didn’t jinx my broom?”

“How do I—” Lily curled her hands into fists. “Because _I did!” _


End file.
